


she's her mother's daughter (but she's got her father's eyes)

by PaleAssassin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Always-a-girl!Stiles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Gen, I am making it so that Erica and Boyd are alive because of reasons, Infidelity, Kid Fic, M/M, Stiles and Derek have a kid, cause i can't get enough of fem!Stiles, derek can be a douche, does anyone really know how to tag these?, graphic depictions of gore, it's just a warning for those who don't like that sort of stuff, that doesn't happen much but it does happen sometimes, this is your warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleAssassin/pseuds/PaleAssassin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>UNFINISHED AND DISCONTINUED</p><p> </p><p>Stiles Stilinski is not to blame for anything that has happened to her in the past nine months. It's totally not her fault that Derek couldn't keep it in his pants and got her pregnant. It isn't her fault that before they both find out, Derek breaks up with her and she flees Beacon Hills. It's not her fault, and it's not Cora's fault, and that's all that really matters.<br/>And if the strange werewolves currently trying to kill her could please stop, that would be much appreciated, thanks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Friends, I am terrible at summaries, so if you clicked on this and decided to read, thank you from the bottom of my heart.  
> OKAY, NOW, TO REAL NOTES.  
> The main thing I have to say here is hi, first Teen Wolf story I've ever written, thank the lord for insomnia and staying up late to watch Star Trek. But really, the main thing I have to say is that unless it's wanted, I will not be continuing this story. I've got a hell of a lot of homework to do for my advanced classes, so I don't want to continue writing something if no one wants to read it. If you want me to continue, please leave kudos or comments telling me so. I'll happily continue if you think it's worthwhile.  
> Also holy hell I just thought of that title for no particular reason. I think it sounds cool. Does it sound cool? I think it does.  
> BUT ENOUGH OF ME RAMBLING. Sorry it's like midnight right now and I haven't gotten more than five hours of sleep in the past four days. I'm a bit sleep deprived. Anyway, there will be more notes and some explaining in the end notes.  
> ON TO THE STORY.

 

Cora Hale was not known for her heart. That was Laura, the perfect eldest sibling, perfect child, perfect soon-to-be-Alpha. She was the compassionate one. Cora, on the other hand, was known for her cunning. She and Derek would get into tremendous amounts of trouble together. Gluing shoes to cement, replacing sugar with salt and making sure no one knew until their dad had his first cup of coffee, they did it all. And she never got caught. 

If there was one thing Cora could do better than anyone else, it was hiding away until the suspicion had passed—she’d learned to do so at a young age, and she was the best at laying low until whatever danger she might be in had passed by.

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when Stiles Stilinski, infamous human of the Hale pack and girlfriend to her older brother, Derek, showed up at her doorstep and asked for her help to run away. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was. Last Cora had heard about her friend and her brother, they’d been so in love that it was almost _sickening_ to be in the same room as them both. Why Stiles would want to run away was beyond her. But the stench of fear, emotional pain, and desperation emenating from the girl stopped any protests Cora might have had. Instead, she set to work on teaching the woman she thought of as a sister how to run.

The next morning, Stiles and her precious blue jeep were gone, and Derek showed up at the apartment Cora shared with Peter, demanding to know where his girlfriend, or now _ex-_ girlfriend _,_ as of the night before, was. Cora, being the friend that Stiles had needed after Scott had almost completely abandoned her, told him that she didn’t know. It wasn’t a lie; Stiles hadn’t told her _where_ she was going. But Cora also didn’t tell him about what she had taught Stiles before she’d left Beacon Hills.

She shouldn’t have lied to him, Cora thought now, because what she found when Stiles had called for the help of Peter and Cora both was almost too much to handle at one time.

In Stiles arms, nestled safely and close to her heart, was the _tiniest_ baby Cora and Peter had ever seen. A mop of dark curls rested on top of the baby’s tiny head, falling close to the babies large, light brown eyes and contrasting sharply with its pale skin. Everything about the little baby was tiny; from its nose to the toes on its feet, everything was smaller than it should’ve been. But there was no mistaking the strong jaw and the thin lips as what was given to the baby by her father, or the curls and the large eyes that were so similar to the baby’s mother that it was almost scary. Even Cora, who wasn’t known for her heart or her brains, could see exactly whose daughter this was.

Stiles smiled up at them both, nodding at the incredulous looks she was getting from the two wolves. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again, staring down at the bundle in her arms. The baby yawned, blinking up at its mother with tired eyes. Stiles smiled down at the baby, pressing a kiss to its head, before looking back up to the two and saying, “Peter, Cora, meet Rosamund Talia Stilinski.”

Peter was the first to snap out of his daze, stepping closer to his goddaughter and staring down at what he knew was his new grandniece. The baby looked up at him, her eyes flashing bright yellow for a moment, before stretching her arms up and grabbing at her great-uncle. Peter chuckled, looking up to Stiles for permission. She smiled at him and passed Rosamund to him, making sure he had a hold of her before going over to Cora. 

Standing before the new aunt, Stiles glanced at her surprised face before looking down, as if afraid to meet her eye. Cora shook herself, trying to regain some sort of coherent thought. This woman, this wonderful, selfless, _beautiful_ woman who had done everything in return for nothing, now had to deal with the child of the man who had driven her out of her home town, out of any life she had made in the mess of everything that had happened over her high school years. Right then, all Cora wanted to do was go back to Beacon Hills and beat her older brother senseless. Instead, she pulled the woman she had almost called her sister into a hug, breathing in her scent, before telling her that if she needed anything, anything at all, to just call her or Peter and they would do what they could.

From the relief in Stiles’ eyes, Cora could tell that it wasn’t what Stiles had been expecting to hear. She’d been expecting a reprimand, a demand to go back to Derek so that he would know he had a daughter. After she’d wiped away the few tears that had slid down her cheeks, Stiles had pulled Peter into a hug as well, ignoring the wolf as he grumbled about not being feared anymore, and left their meeting place, baby daughter strapped into the old jeep Stiles couldn’t bring herself to get rid of.

_(Sometimes, Cora would think about why she’d kept it, and always came to the conclusion that it was the only thing Stiles had left that reminded her of the pack.)_

 Watching her drive away, Cora thought to herself, Derek you better find a way to fix your relationship, because she’s not going to want to raise her daughter by herself. Peter simply pulled Cora into a one-armed hug, leading her back towards his own little car and promising to help his goddaughter and new grandniece in every way possible, while trying his hardest to not tell his nephew until Stiles was ready to come back home. Until that time, she was under their protection, and Hales were extremely protective of their family.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Stiles sighed, staring at the rearview mirror until she could no longer see Peter and Cora. It felt… good, almost relieving, to have someone who knew her secret. Up until now, her entire pregnancy had been a closely guarded secret, something that none of her family back in Beacon Hills had known about. With her godfather and her child’s aunt knowing, Stiles felt safer and ultimately more in control of her future.

Her daughter would grow up, with or without her father, but would be protected and loved by her great-uncle and aunt. She would grow up hearing stories of her mother’s exploits, but Stiles could only hope that her daughter would never be forced to adapt as Stiles had. It was part of the reason she wasn’t returning to Beacon Hills. She didn’t want her daughter in the middle of the supernatural action, and she didn’t want to risk her baby’s safety. Instead, they would live a life on the road, until Stiles felt like she could stop running.

A soft gurgle came from Rosemund’s car seat. Stiles looked back at her daughter, who looked so much like Derek that it sometimes physically _hurt_ to look at the little girl, and smiled at the toothless grin her daughter was giving her. Yeah, they’d be just fine on their own. It would be good to get away from all the death and destruction anyhow.

But, of course, it wouldn’t be Stiles’ life without danger. As it was, Stiles didn’t notice the five pairs of glowing yellow eyes that were staring after her jeep. Stiles had just given birth to an unclaimed werewolf cub. Of course she wouldn’t be separated from the danger she’d tried so hard to run from. She was Stiles Stilinski, when was anything she did ever _safe?_


	2. I'm Coming Home (Don't Tell the Wolves)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so, due to overwhelming support, or at least more support than I’ve ever gotten before, I’ll be continuing this. I’m writing these notes while I’m writing the actual story, and I’m not sure when this chapter will be finished, but this point still stands: do not expect me to update fast. I have two advanced classes along with Algebra III and physics this year, and I absolutely suck at science, so I won’t have much time to update. I’ve still got about nine days before school starts, so I might be pumping like two more chapters out after this, though I still have a shit ton of homework to finish before school starts, but other than that, I’ll try to update once every week. Emphasis on try. I’m not, despite what I sometimes do, a fast writer. Please bear with me. This will be my first ever multi-chapter story.  
> Other than that, I realized that I have not researched nearly enough about Stiles’ jeep. I know jeeps are not the safest for kids, but I didn’t realize that I knew absolutely nothing about Stiles' jeep. It looks like it might only have two seats, but my brother bought the same kind of jeep just today and he has five seats. What I'll say is that Stiles' jeep has the five seats, and that the back is just used for storage, since jeeps are not known for trunk space.  
> I think that’s enough notes for now. Thank you to all of you who commented and asked me to keep going. Especially you, Hardleyf, because all you said was “continue” and that made me laugh so hard I fell off my couch. And, to answer a question, yes, Rosie was born premature. But she is going to be particularly tiny for most of her life. Girl!Stiles, in my mind, is 5’3” of snark with a smear of red lipstick on her smirk. The red lipstick may be me projecting, because I never leave home without my favorite shade of red lipstick, but yaknow. Little Red and all that.  
> This has gone on longer than I thought. Sorry! I get a bit rambly when I’m tired and on a sugar high. On with the story!

**THREE YEARS LATER**

The inky black of the night stretched before her, the highway disappearing into a dark hole of nothingness. At least, that’s what it felt like, driving her old jeep down an empty highway at almost two in the morning. Stiles sighed, messing with the radio and trying to find something that would take her mind off of her destination. With little Rosie sleeping in the seat next to her, Stiles couldn’t raise the volume too much, but she needed some sound to distract her from the dark night and where the road would lead.

She finally found a station that played decent enough music and turned the volume down low. Rosemund grumbled a bit, scrunching up her chubby cheeks and burrowing her forehead into Stiles’ hip. She smiled down at her daughter, running a hand through the little girls’ dark curls. No matter what happened, no matter how much shit she’d have to go through when she reached her destination, it would all be worth it. Stiles would give up anything for her little girl, even her own safety or sanity.

The highway loped on and on, the tires of Stiles’ powder-blue jeep eating up the asphalt as fast as she dared go. Mile after mile of black sky and empty highway spread before her, the only light being her headlights stretching out against the dark asphalt. The tension in her shoulders-caused partly by the danger she faced and partly because of the three long scratches that still bled sluggishly on her back- relaxed a bit with every mile she put between her little girl and the danger Stiles had put her in.

She’d been driving for god knows how long, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the danger. Stiles hadn’t gotten enough sleep in what felt like a decade. They couldn’t stop to stay at a motel; they could hardly even stop for gas and bathroom breaks. It wasn’t exactly hard, since Rosie had practically been born on the road, and had spent half a year without spending more than four days in one place. More, it was annoying. But Stiles had promised Rosie when they’d left their comfortable home that they’d keep going until they reached where they were going, and then they wouldn’t move for as long as they could stay.

“Mama?” A sleepy voice asked from Stiles’ lap. She looked down at her daughter, who’d moved so that she was looking up at her mother with large, honey-colored eyes. It always shocked Stiles, how much her daughter looked like her. Curly hair, light brown eyes that always seemed a bit large for her face, cute little button nose, all of that just screamed _Stilinski_.

“Yes, baby?” Stiles replied, brushing a hand through her daughters messy hair.

“We there?” Rosie asked, burrowing closer to her.

Stiles smiled brighter at her daughters’ sleepy voice, “Remember what we talked about, baby? You gotta speak in real sentences, like a big girl.”

Rose grumbled, but lifted her head up enough to say, “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet, little flower,” Stiles said, staring out into the blackness of the road, “We’ll be there in a few hours. Then,” She continued, laughing a bit, “we can sleep for a week.”

“But ‘m not s’eepy, mama,” Rose whined, but a yawn halfway through her sentence was enough for Stiles to know she was lying.

“Go back to sleep, baby. We’ll be there by morning.”

“Kay, Mama,” Rose burrowed as close as she could to her mother, drifting off almost immediately. Stiles kept running her free hand through her daughter’s hair soothingly, despite the twinge it caused as the movement pulled the scabbed scratches on her back. She’d wrapped enough gauze to suffocate an elephant around her back, covering the fabric in a special concoction made to make it impossible for werewolves to smell her out. No one, not even Rosemund, who lay practically in Stiles’ lap, could smell the blood and beginnings of infection.

Stiles just hoped it would be enough. She’d already been driving for twenty hours, stopping for nothing other than gas, twice, and bathroom breaks, four times. That, together, had eaten forty-five minutes that they could’ve spent on a road, but Stiles couldn’t _not_ stop. It just meant that their pursuers were a bit closer, chasing after them with a carelessness that Stiles was using to her advantage. They thought she had nowhere to run. They thought she was just running, and that she would have to stop sometime. Well, they were right about having to stop, but Stiles wasn’t out of resources just yet.

A slight crackle from her back alerted Stiles, telling her that she’d opened the scratches on her back. She sighed, moving her hand back to the wheel. Only six more hours. Six more hours until she was back.

Six more hours until she reached Beacon Hills.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Wake up, little flower,” Stiles cooed at her daughter, pulling up into the driveway of her old home. The house still stood, much the same as it had been. The door and shutters had been painted sometime in the last four years, but other than that, it was the same home she’d grown up in. The same home she’d thought she’d never return to.

Turning off the jeep, Stiles turned to her daughter. Rose was still sleeping, curled up as small as she could make herself. Laying the way she was, Rose looked closer to a one year old instead of the full three years – she would proudly state- that she actually was. She’d been born prematurely, but even then, she was small for her age. It was something else that Stiles had passed to her daughter- she barely reached 5’3” at 21 years old, and she doubted Rosie would be much different.

“Rose, Rosie, little flower, wake up,” Stiles coaxed, shaking her daughter gently, “We’re here,”

Roses’ eyes popped open at that. She jumped up from her seat and began bouncing, a million and one questions on her tongue. Stiles pressed a finger to her smiling lips to keep her daughter from speaking. She wasn’t sure who was in her old home- only that her fathers cruiser was missing and in its place were two smaller cars. It was suspicious and surprising, since her father had never owned anything other than his cruiser and the only other thing that was ever parked in their driveway was Stiles’ jeep. In any case, no one would attack her in broad daylight.

Stiles got out of the car, stretching as much as she could with the gauze that was wrapped tight around her chest, and picked up her daughter, who had crawled over to give her mom an easier job of getting her down. Instead of setting Rose on the ground so that she could walk, though, Stiles kept her daughter in her arms, closing the door and walking towards the front door to her old home. It would’ve been easier to protect herself if Rose wasn’t in her arms, but who knows what could happen if her daughter was left to her own devices?

Stiles got up to the door, only to stop. She could hear laughter on the other side, laughter and cheerful voices. Far too many and too high to be just her dad and some of his friends. She hesitated at the door, free hand poised to knock. Stiles quickly thought through the pros and cons. If anything, it may be that the Hale pack had gathered in her house. Worst case scenario, it was strangers and she’d be forced to leave and find something else to accommodate her and Rose. She hesitated only a moment longer, before gathering her courage and knocking on the door.

The laughter stopped immediately. Stiles tensed, dropping her hand to grasp the wolvesbane covered knife she kept strapped to her hip. Whoever this was, they either hadn’t heard her or, if they were wolves, they couldn’t smell her past the special concoction that kept the smell of blood at bay. This was dangerous. She shouldn’t have knocked. She should’ve waited, called her dad, something else. Stupid, _stupid_ mistake. She should leave now, before they got to the do-

Before she could turn away, the door was wrenched open. Dark brown eyes flashed red, glowing underneath dark brown hair and standing out against tanned skin. Stiles stared up at him, at this man she hadn’t seen in four years, whom she hadn’t even heard from since that night. She really should’ve left, could still leave if she hurried. Apologize, say she had the wrong house number, get up and leave. But she couldn’t. Not now.

‘ _Dammit, Stilinski, say something!_ ’ Her mind demanded. The man gaped at her, all sound pausing, as if waiting for the tension to snap. She had to say something, anything, to snap the tension.

“Scott?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that was slow going. How many of you thought I was going to have Derek show up first thing? Gotta say, I almost did that. Not yet though. Derek is going to get Hell when he shows up though.  
> Alright, so this is mostly filler. Didn't know that when I started this chapter, but that's what came out. For now, I'm happy with it. Sorry if this isn't what you wanted. I promise, there'll be more action here soon.  
> Anyway, HOW MANY OF YOU SAW YESTERDAY'S/TODAY'S EPISODE?! I hope I wasn't the only one who wanted to shoot Jennifer full of mistletoe and trap her in a vat of acid. And MELISSA. I won't spoil it, because I know not all of you will have seen it yet, but all I want to say is that this episode made my love for Peter grow tremendously. Just, Peter being all "terrified/worried uncle" to poor Cora made my heart melt. That and that one scene with the crotch. Ya'll know what I'm talking 'bout.  
> If you caught the title of the chapter, it is named after the song "Coming Home". Most of the titles for chapters will be taken from songs, because I'm a sap like that, and I love music. Deal with it ;).  
> Last thing for this chapter, this is an AU where Erica and Boyd are still alive. Ethan is alive and together with Danny, because they are absolutely perfect for each other, and Ethan is no longer part of the Alpha pack. Mostly everything that has happened so far in season 3 has happened, other than Erica and Boyd's death. I couldn't handle it if they were dead.  
> That's all for now. Please leave comments telling me what I can improve on and any questions you may have, I'll try to answer. Thanks for reading, guys!


	3. The Story Left Untold (It Would've Been Easier Than This)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably could've thought of a better title, but it's midnight and I've had a long day. Been dog sitting for my grandma and her dog is just so old he doesn't even know what to do with himself. But that's not about the story, now, is it?  
> I really have to thank you all for your kudos and comments. I'm really glad you are all enjoying this, and I'm proud of how well this is turning out. This chapter is a bit hectic, but my computer shut down while I was about halfway done and I lost a thousand words. Rewrote it, and this is how it turned out. I hope you're happy with how long it is.  
> I'm not going to ramble on like I usually do, because it's hot and I'm tired and my headache is about to kill me. I need to go make myself something to eat, take some tylenol, and go to sleep. Got a big day tomorrow.  
> Here's the next chapter, guys.

‘ _Well, that was a dumb thing to say_ ,’ Stiles told herself. Scott still looked at her, staring and gaping like a fish. Poor guy looked like he’d just run into a glass door, forgetting that he’d closed it when he’d gone back inside. Which, okay, it was a terrible analogy, but it he looked so much like a kicked puppy right now that she couldn’t help remembering when Benny, one of her neighbors’ dogs, had run into their sliding glass door. Benny had the same look on his face that Scott had on now.

“ _Stiles_?” He squeaked, stuttering forward as if to touch her, only to pull back when he noticed the child in her arms. Rosie was always very shy around new people, and sometimes around people that she knew. She had burrowed her head into Stiles’ shoulder the second the door had open, so the only part of her completely visible was her back and the back of her curly head.

He opened his mouth, probably to question who the child was, but paused at the sound of running feet. Looking past him, Stiles saw Isaac skid to a halt, staring at her and looking almost exactly how Scott had looked a few seconds before. Erica, Boyd, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, Danny, and Ethan were just behind him, gathering close together in the narrow hallway. All of them had the same shocked look on their faces, staring at her and her daughter with wide eyes and open mouths.

“Uh,” Stiles said, looking between each member of the pack before returning her gaze to Scott, “Surprise?”

Scott sputtered, looking between the curly brown mop resting on her shoulder and her face, “Surprise? Stiles, where the _hell_ have you been? And who’s the kid?”

“’m not a kid,” Rose grumbled, sneaking a peak at Scott and flashing her yellow eyes at him, “’m three years old!”

Stiles chuckled, sparing a look at her grumpy daughter, before looking back at Scott. The other wolves and humans had gotten closer while she looks away, gathering behind Scott to get a closer look at the two.  Stiles smiled weakly at them, rolling one shoulder to try to relieve some of the tension in her neck. She’d hoped to talk with just her dad first, and then deal with the pack on a later date. Preferably days from now. Nothing was going according to plan anymore.

“Guys, this is my daughter, Rosamund Stilinski,” Stiles said, turning enough that they could see some of her face, “Rosie, can you say hi?”

Rose pulled her head off of Stiles’ shoulder enough to look at all the people gathered in the hallway. Once she caught site of them all, she let out a little sound and turned her head back to her mother’s shoulder. Stiles laughed, raising her daughters chin and guiding her to look at Scott.

“Baby, this is your Uncle Scott. Do you remember me telling you about Uncle Scott?” Rose looked up at him for a moment, before she nodded enthusiastically, looking towards Scott instead of burying her head. Stiles had told her all about the pack and its members while they traveled, so it was no surprise that Rose wasn’t nearly as shy once she learned exactly who he is.

Scotts eyes had widened when he heard “Uncle Scott”, but seeing the little girl turn to him, he put on a smile and knelt just a bit, making sure he was at her level.

“Hello, Rosamund,” He said quietly, smile widening when she giggled and waved to him. Stiles smiled too, knowing right then and there that her daughter would be protected- if not by the entire Hale pack, then at least by Scott.

“Aren’t you going to invite them in, Scott?” Lydia said pointedly, her gaze flashing from Scott to Rose to Stiles. There was a strange look in her eye, and Stiles immediately knew that Lydia had figured out who Roses’ father was.

“Yeah, yeah, right. Sorry, Stiles. Come on, it’s still your house,” Scott stuttered, stepping out of the way of the door. The others walked in front of her, leading her to the living room. She smiled when she walked in. The entire house was just as she remembered; it still smelled of wood shavings and her mom’s perfume, which had never seemed to fade. The living room still had the old couch Stiles could never get her dad to throw away, sitting adjacent of the TV that was situated in the far corner. The other couch, which was a totally different style from the other one, sat perpendicular to the old couch. An old loveseat stood closer to the fireplace. The fireplace was still crumbly and dark, with pictures scattered on the mantle. It was the same house she’d lived in for most of her life, and it made her feel _safe_.

Stiles set Rosamund down as soon as they’d reached the living room, but when she sat on the old couch, Rose crawled up onto her lap. The others situated themselves so that they all faced the two. Scott sat on Stiles’ left, Isaac on her right. Allison sat on the arm of the couch next to Scott, leaning into him. Boyd and Erica curled up together on the loveseat, with Danny and Ethan at their feet. Lydia and Jackson took the other couch, Lydia sitting prim and proper while Jackson slouched. It was almost protective, and it made Stiles’ chest warm.

Silence descended, awkward and heavy. Everyone was waiting for someone else to speak. It wasn’t unusual, though it had been a long time that something like this had happened. Their first pack meeting had been much the same. Rose looked between everyone, silently mouthing who she thought they were. She looked confusedly between Lydia and Erica, staring at their curled blond hair.

‘Well, that’s as good of place to start as any,’ Stiles thought, picking Rose up and situating her so that she was facing everyone in the room.

“Rosie,” She began, “This is the pack I told you about.”

Rose nodded excitedly, sparing Scott a glance before looking back towards them all. She pointed towards Isaac, who startled when she said, “Uncle Isaac!”

“That’s right, baby,” Stiles laughed, “But you need to use full sentences, like we talked about.”

She huffed, but continued, “That’s Uncle Isaac, and that’s Aunt Allison, and that’s Jackson, and…” She trailed off, staring at Lydia as if she was a puzzle. They all chuckled, but it was Lydia herself who said, “I’m Lydia, Rosamund,” in the sweetest voice any of them have ever heard.

Rosie nodded gravely, before going back to pointing, “That’s Danny and Ethan, and that’s Aunt Erica and Uncle Boyd. Danny and Ethan, they’s mates,” She informed the pack in a voice that three year olds used to tell everyone they knew all, “Uncle Boyd and Aunt Erica are too. It means they love each other a whole lot. Almost as much as Mama loves me!”

The group laughed at her enthusiasm. For such a shy girl, Rosie could be a handful when it came to her mom’s old pack. She knew everything about them. She knew that Boyd had gotten the scars on his face from some hunter shoving wolfsbane into still-healing cuts, she knew that Erica was still scared of lightning, she even knew that Allison and Scott had trouble staying together. 

“You’re a smart girl, Rosamund,” Allison praised.

“Mama calls me Rosie,” The girl replied.

“Well, Rosie,” Danny said, smiling at the little girl, “We need to have a little chat with your mama.”

“It’s about grown up stuff,” Ethan added, crinkling his nose for good measure, “You wouldn’t like it.”

Rosie nodded again, crinkling her nose as well. She looked up at Stiles, asking silently what she was supposed to do.

Stiles didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to tell the pack what had happened with her very impressionable daughter in the room, but who could she trust to babysit? Markus wasn’t here to guide her anymore. The only people she’d trust with her daughter were in the room-

 _Wait_. “Where’s Cora?” Stiles asked, looking around. She would’ve thought Cora would be stuck to Isaac’s side after everything that had happened, but the youngest Hale was nowhere to be found. In fact, none of the Hales were in the room.

“She’s at home,” Isaac replied, “She didn’t want to stay here last night.”

“Peter?” Stiles asked. She didn’t dare ask about him, about the Alpha. It wouldn’t do well to even speak his name, let alone show the emotions that would erupt from her at the very mention of him.

“Peter is… somewhere, no one really knows. And Derek are up in Washington, talking with another pack,” Scott replied. Stiles flinched at Derek’s name, a sudden onslaught of pain and sadness shooting through her. Four years later, and it still hurts the same.

The wolves all looked towards her, confusion evident on their faces. She didn’t want to tell them what happened. The only ones who really knew were Peter and Cora, and even then, Stiles hadn’t wanted them to know. 

“Can someone call Cora for me?” Stiles said quickly, trying to stop any questions before they started. Cora knew everything already; she could watch Rosie while she told her old pack everything that had happened in the last four years. Or, maybe not _everything_. It might be a good thing to keep some things from her old pack.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Auntie Cora!” Rosie shouted, running on her short, stubby legs towards her favorite aunt. Cora giggled, swinging Rose up into her arms and twirling her around. Rosie giggled uncontrollably, her dark curls bouncing with the force of them.

“Rosebud! How’s my favorite little niece?” Cora asked, placing Rose on her hip and walking all the way into the living room. She ignored all the stares she was getting from her pack, intent on listening to the three year old in her arms.

Rose giggled again, pressing her nose into Cora’s neck and breathing in her aunt’s scent. “’m your only niece, Auntie Cora,” Rosie informed her from her spot in Cora’s neck. She chuckled, sitting down on the floor in front of Stiles and transferring the bundle of lanky three-year-old limbs to her lap.

“Well, that just makes you extra special, doesn’t it?” Cora replied, messing up her nieces curls by running a hand through them. Rose squealed, head-butting Cora gently in the chin for her trouble.

Stiles smiled at the two, knowing just how much Cora had missed Rose. No matter how many times Stiles would speak a wax poetic about Lydia or Allison or Erica, Cora remained Rosie’s’ favorite aunt. But, from the looks the two were getting from the rest of the pack, Stiles knew she had to hurry to explain.

“Cora has known about Rose since she was born,” Stiles told the others, whose attention shifted the minute Stiles spoke, “So has Peter. Cora knows her the best, though.”

Stiles smiled sadly at the memory of the summer spent with Cora. Rose had just turned two at the time, and they spent the majority of their time that summer in one town. It was the most stable thing Stiles’ daughter had ever had.

Cora turned a careful eye to Stiles, probably searching her over to see what exactly was wrong with her. Stiles sat carefully still, holding herself as upright as she could. It wouldn’t do good to have Cora realize she was injured and exhausted.

“Mama’s hurt, Auntie Cora,” Rosie said, looking between her aunt and her mother, “The bad wolves got to her. Couldn’t help cause I ain’t strong enough,”

“Took Markus away to Heaven,” She added, almost like an afterthought. Her gaze, though, remained on her mother. She knew that if she couldn’t smell the blood on her back, the other werewolves couldn’t either.

The pack turned towards her as an entity. Stiles shrank into her seat, trying to get away from the prying eyes. Dear lord, she was raising a _tattle tale_.

“Markus is dead?” Cora murmured, her eyes wide. She’d known Markus from the short time she’d spent traveling with them.

Stiles nodded, mouth set in a grim line, “Got a few good hits in before the end. Couldn’t keep my back from getting shredded,” Silence fell again, so Stiles continued, “He died protecting us from a pack of wolves.”

‘Shouldn’t’ve said that,’ Stiles thought to herself as the room erupted into chaos. The only ones who stayed quiet were Lydia, Cora, Rosie, and Stiles herself. Scott and Jackson called for blood, Allison, Lydia, and Erica were already planning on castrating any male member of this pack, Jackson, Isaac, and Boyd were growling lowly and grumbling about plans to find the pack and destroy them. It was almost too much.

“Enough!” Cora shouted, dark eyes flashing yellow. Silence fell immediately.

“Shouting about it won’t help,” Cora said, making eye contact with every pack member, “What we need to do is wait for Derek to get back. While we’re doing that,” She added, “Scott, call your mom and have her come over here. I have a feeling Stiles wasn’t taking care of her back as well as she should’ve been.”

Stiles bit her tongue to stop whatever retort she had. Cora was suddenly such a leader, taking over even though it was Scott who was the other Alpha. Suddenly, Stiles felt completely safe in the hands of her old pack. If Cora’s attitude was anything to go by, they would protect Rosie till death.

Scott nodded, pulling out his cellphone and dialing his mom. While he did that, Cora locked eyes with Stiles and nodded towards the stairs, a silent suggestion to go lie down in her room. Stiles sighed at the bossiness, but made her way there.

Collapsing on her old bed, Stiles let out a small groan. Nothing had gone according to plan. The only thing that had gone somewhat right was that no one had figured out who Rosie’s father was.  Other than that, her arrival had caused total chaos.

“We should’ve kept running,” She mumbled into the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know it was a lame ending, but hopefully you'll understand why I stopped there next chapter. If not, please just remember that I've been getting five hours of sleep just to put this out for ya'll. I had to stop sometime.  
> Thanks for sticking with this, guys. Any questions, just ask me. Also, if anyone seems a little OOC, please tell me. I'll do my best to fix it.  
> The next chapter might be a while. I've been procrastinating on my homework so that I could give you guys some chapters, so I really have to buckle down and do this. I've only got about nine days left to get all this shit done.  
> I have no idea how to end these notes so I'll just bid you a good day, good night, or good afternoon. Depends on when you read this.


	4. We're the New Face of Failure (Prettier and Younger But Not Any Better Off)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *HAD TO REUPLOAD SINCE IT WASN’T SHOWING UP*  
> Hey, remember when I said it might take a while for the next chapter? Well, I lied.  
> Actually, I didn't lie, I just figured out a way to get my homework done in a way that would be easier than forcing myself to do it. My best friend actually suggested it; that I just do one thing a day. And since I only have two things left to do, I'll be doing that Saturday and Sunday. So you're getting a new chapter now and maybe one tomorrow.  
> Also, hell yes I used Fall Out Boy lyrics for the chapter title this time. That is probably my favorite song to sing, mostly because I can actually sing it well.  
> So, this chapter, you get to learn a bit more about Markus. He is my baby. I love him almost more than I love little Rosie. I hope you like him as much as I do.  
> Also, I know this chapter took longer than usual, but hopefully the length makes up for it. I swear, while I was writing this, I thought it would never end. It just kept growing longer and longer. Oh god it just. keeps. growing. I CAN'T STOP WRITING THIS HELP. SERIOUSLY SEND HELP IT'S TAKING ME HOURS TO FINISH THIS.  
> Done with notes for now. To the chapter!

Bare feet slapped against muddy grass, breaking twigs underneath scarred and bloody soles. Stiles panted, trying to catch her breath while running full speed ahead. Her ribs twinged with each step, and long scratches spanning her back bled steadily, dripping onto the grass. Tiny arms clung to her neck, almost cutting off her airway. She pulled her daughter up higher on her back, effectively regaining some of the breath that the cold Minnesota air stole from her. Heart beating fast with the extra pump of adrenaline, breath coming in short puffs, feet and head dripping blood; Stiles was terrified _. This had happened before._

The thought was stolen from her as a long, drawn out howl filled the air. It was joined by others, filling the woods with the harsh sounds. Stiles pushed herself to go faster, _faster_ , can’t have them catch her, not with her daughter on the line, _not now_. She weaved through the trees, not caring about the blood that was leaving a trail for them to follow. She had to get back, had to push forward. If she could just make it-

“Geneviève!” Stiles’ whole body jerked as someone used her full name. There was only one person who knew her well enough to know it. Markus, she thought, Markus is here to help us.

“You hear him, baby?” Stiles panted to her daughter, pausing for breath between each word. She felt Rose nod against her back, burrowing her face into Stiles’ t-shirt.

“Gen! Come on, darlin’, where are you?” Markus shouted again, closer this time. God, he was so close. If she just stopped-- no, she couldn’t stop. Not even with help on the way. Stopping was never an option.

“Here,” She panted, but her voice was too soft, too raw from the cold air to be heard.

“Here, Marks!” Rose shouted, her voice carrying through the woods. The howls stopped suddenly at her voice, but started again with fervor. Now, the wolves knew where they were. _Shit, shit, shit, shit_ , Stiles thought while she ran _, Shouldn’t’ve done that. Should’ve just kept running._

“Rosie! Sugar, do you know where I am?” Markus shouted back, overpowering the howls. Rose nodded into Stiles’ back, taking one arm off of the death grip she had on her mother’s neck to point to the right. Stiles switched directions immediately, trusting her daughters’ super-human senses.

Stiles ran faster than she ever had before. Trying to outrun wolves was something that just didn’t happen. But Stiles couldn’t give up. Not now, not ever. Not with little Rosie on the line. Dodging dead and dying trees, stepping on twig after twig, Stiles darted through the inky black night, trying to find Markus or do something to get away.

Finally, she burst through an overgrowth of what looked, in passing glance, to be poison ivy and skidded to a halt when she saw Markus. The man’s eyes glowed softly in the waning moonlight, hands pulsing softly with energy. He was looking south when Stiles stopped, but turned to her as she stumbled towards him. His hands and eyes stopped glowing suddenly and he sprinted the last few feet, before stopping in front of her and putting both hands on her shoulders.

“God, darlin’,” Markus whispered softly, southern accent thickening with worry, “What the hell happened?”

“Pack is after us,” Stiles panted, handing Rose over to the man, “Couldn’t get back to your truck. Had to leave it. Markus,” Stiles paused, trying to catch her breath, “Markus, I can’t let them take her.”

“’Course not, Ginny,” Markus said confidently. He repositioned Rose so that she sat curled into his right side and put his left arm under Stiles’ arms, comforting and supporting at the same time. The three started stumbling through the woods, the howls at their backs motivating a faster pace than either adults wanted to go. But the void of the night was dangerous on its own, let alone traversing its depths with a pack of bloodthirsty, claw sharpening bastards at their backs.

Markus was murmuring something the whole way back to the mountain ash surrounded cabin that he’d “borrowed” from a friend. Stiles couldn’t hear more than “’s alright, Ginny. We’ll be fine. Flodyn will be fine. It’ll be okay, Ginny.” It was comforting, even hearing the Welsh name Markus had given Rose. ‘Flower’, he called her. It wasn’t original, but it was almost funny hearing such a complex language in Markus’ soft southern accent.

Distracted by the thought, Stiles stumbled and got her foot caught in a particularly large branch. It forced Markus to stop and try to free her as quickly as he could. The guttural howls moved closer and closer with every delayed second. Stiles’ breath quickened, fear pumping though her veins. They couldn’t get caught. Not now. Not after everything.

“Just a little longer, Gen,” Markus whispered, dragging her along again, “Then we can all shut down. Recharge a little bit. Come on, just a little bit longer.”

Stiles nodded, forcing herself to go faster. The thought of sleep was worth the burn and ache she experienced as she pushed herself further than she should ever go. It was all their lives on the line; hers, Markus’, Roses’. She had to pick herself up and keep moving, if just for the others.

Markus reached the circle of mountain ash first, breaking the line to let Rose in and sealing it back up. Stiles was twenty seconds behind, stumbling over the line and collapsing onto the muddy grass in front of the cabin. She heard Markus speak something, but paid no attention to it. All her attention was focused on planning. How would they get out of here, get past the wolves literally howling at their door? The jeep couldn’t outrun them, not by a long shot. It was too flimsy to stand up to the claws and teeth of the wolves. But they had to get out somehow.

“Got it,” Stiles whispered. They’d create a distraction. Throw something with Stiles and Roses’ scent into the woods. Throw _several_ somethings into the woods. It would keep them guessing and allow them time to drive away in the jeep. Chances were they’d have to leave Markus’ truck, but it was a small price to pay for their lives.

“Markus,” Stiles rasped, “Markus I know what to do.”

“So do I.” He replied from above her.

Stiles flipped around to her back. Markus was staring down at her, green eyes empty of all emotion and mouth set in a grim line. His sandy-blond hair stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck, broad chest heaving from screaming and running. He stretched out his hand, offering her a way back up. She took it, heaving herself up to her feet with his help. She looked around quickly trying to spot her daughter. Where did Rose go? Why wasn’t she here?

“Flodyn is strapped in the jeep, Geneviève,” Markus said blankly, “Go get in. Be ready.”

“Mark, I’ve got… wait, what?” Stiles cocked her head, “Mark, I’ve got a plan. I can’t get in the car yet.”

Markus shook his head, smiling a bit, “Not this time, geneth herfeiddia,” He chuckled sadly, pulling her towards the jeep, “Not this time. My turn to save you, darlin’.”

“But, Mark,” Stiles trailed off, staring at the jeep. It was all packed, with everything they owned. He couldn’t have gotten everything in the short time she’d laid on the mud.

“Did you know?” Stiles asked, looking at her friend, _hell_ , he was more like a _brother_ to her. Why would her brother lie to her?

Markus sighed, grabbing a roll of gauze that he covered a compound that would keep the scent from wolves and instructing Stiles to lift up her shirt. She did as she was told, knowing he would be efficient and fast, not lingering like some men could be. He really was more like a brother to her than a friend.

Once the gauze was tied tightly so that her back was wrapped tight enough to stop the bleeding, he threw the rest of the roll in the front seat and sighed.

“I suspected,” He said, looking away, “Thought maybe these bastards would show their ugly snouts soon. But that doesn’t matter now,” He said resolutely, “Right now, you need to get yourself and that perfect daughter of yours out of here. I’ll hold them off while you go.”

“Markus…” Stiles whispered, touching his head. He bowed his head low, accepting the touch before shaking his head and smiling warmly up at her.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout me, darlin’,” He said softly, “I’ll be fine. You worry about yourself and your baby girl, alright?”

Stiles nodded, though she really didn’t agree. She didn’t know what Markus was planning, but whatever it was, she knew she wasn’t going to like it. But she knew, in times like these, that Markus would do what he wanted, whether or not she liked his idea. Now, with him not even telling her _what_ he was doing… it wasn’t going to be good, she knew that much.

She climbed in the jeep, finding a pair of Markus’s old sneakers waiting for her. Her bloody feet wouldn’t do well in shoes, but she didn’t have much of a choice. There was gauze covered in the same compound as the stuff on her back stuffed inside the shoes. Stiles immediately knew that he had thought of it after he’d put Rose in her seat, since her feet hadn’t been bleeding before she and Rose had left for the store. Starting the jeep, Stiles pulled out of the dirt driveway and lined the jeep up at the beginning of the mountain ash. Markus would have to break the line before she could go, so she sat still and waited for his signal.

“Hey, you mangy mutts!” Markus shouted suddenly, causing Stiles to look into her rearview mirror. He was standing at the edge of the mountain ash, looking towards where the howls were coming from. “Come and get this, you flee-bitten bitches!”

The mountain ash line was broken suddenly, and Stiles floored the jeep. Even as she drove away, she couldn’t drag her eyes away from the rearview mirror. The wolves descended on him, pouncing on him like he was a chew toy. It was then that the screams started.

God, she would always remember the screams. Markus was dying, was getting ripped to shreds, and she could do _nothing_. She could do nothing at all while her best friend, her _brother_ , her protector, was being stripped of his skin and his bone.

It was only when the screams were cut short that stiles actually cried out. _No, no no no no no!_ Not him, not Markus. Not her brother. She screamed her grief, driving forward but still looking back.

Finally, she dragged her eyes back to the pathway in front of her, only to scream again and slam on the breaks. There, in front of her, standing in the middle of the dirt pathway out of the forest, was Markus, all cut up and stripped of his skin. Bits of white bone were seen through large cuts in his skill, arms, and legs, and his wrist was snapped so cleanly that a bone had stabbed through the skin. Large, thick gashes grotesquely decorated his torso, leaking red and black blood down his ruined shirt. But worst of all, oh god, were his eyes, or the lack thereof. His eyes had been ripped out, leaving gaping red holes that dripped blood down his cheeks like red, gory tears.

“You shouldn’t’ve left me, darlin’” Markus said, smirking and showing her a bloody, gapped tooth smile. “You should’ve gone back for me. Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you save me?”

Before she could answer, another wolf jumped at him, ripping more flesh from his body. Stiles screamed, long and loud, staring at Markus as he was ripped to shreds. She kept screaming, watching his gap-toothed, bloody smile as it turned to her in his final seconds, watched as his head was ripped from his body. It was too much. _No, not this. Anything but this._

“No! Markus, no!” She screamed, banging her head against the steering wheel. “No, no!”

“Stiles? Shit, Stiles! Wake up!” What? Wake up?

“Stiles, it’s a dream! A nightmare! Wake up!”

She sat up quickly, gasping for breath. Her eyes flickered around rapidly, taking in her surroundings as quickly as she could. She wasn’t in that old forest in Minnesota. She wasn’t running from the pack that had killed her best friend, her brother. She was lying in her old bed, in the middle of the night, in her old home, surrounded by things her teenaged-self had bought.

Pressing a hand to her chest, Stiles took a deep breath, then another, and then another. A sheen of cold sweat had broken out on her skin, causing goose bumps to ripple across her bare arms. It was just a dream. A nightmare. No, wait. Not completely. It had started out as a memory, but that memory had ended when a bloody, dead-but-walking Markus showed up. That was the nightmare.

“Are you alright now?” A familiar voice asked from her right. Stiles whipped her head towards the voice, scrambling the opposite way on the bed when she saw the dark shadow standing above her. Hands shot out to grab onto her arms as she stated to tumble over the edge. She struggled away from the hands, but the figure sat on the bed and curled one arm around her thrashing form, using another hand to force her chin up so that she could see the figures face. Once she did, she stopped resisting and sagged against him.

“God, Peter,” She groaned, “Don’t wake a girl up from a nightmare while you’re standing in the shadows.”

Peter chuckled a bit, loosening the arm he had around her, but still letting her lean against him. She sat back against him, boneless, and just breathed. Now, Stiles knew it was Peter who was telling her to wake up. Either he had come back from wherever he went and met with the other members of the pack, or Cora specifically called him. It didn’t matter to her, though. All that matters is that her godfather was here now.

“You know,” He said, startling her for a second time, “I come back from visiting an old friend, and my niece tells me that my goddaughter and my great-niece showed up at their doorstep, bloody and exhausted. I come up here to check on you only to find you withering like you were being held down,” He sighed softly, tightening his arm for a second in sort of one-armed hug, “I’m sorry for scaring you, Genevieve, but you were tearing the stitches Melissa put into your back.”

“Since when are you on a first-name basis with Scott’s mom?” Stiles asked, getting up after finally regaining some semblance of sanity. For a split second, she was worried about her daughter and where she was, before figuring that Cora had probably taken her to the Hale house so as not to wake Stiles up. Whereas Rose had slept during the twenty-six hour journey from Minnesota to California, Stiles, having been driving alone, had slept maybe five of the past forty-seven hours. Looking over at the clock that still stood next to her bed, she saw that it was almost 11pm. She’d slept over fifteen hours.

“A lot has changed since you left, Gen,” Peter said from the bed. She fluttered around the room, finding her bag had been taken from the jeep and everything had been unpacked. She picked up a fresh change of clothes while she thought about what he said. She’d been gone for four full years. The only contact she’d had with her old life was through Peter and Cora, and even then, they didn’t tell her much about what was happening.

“What, did you finally stop being a creeperwolf?” Stiles joked, sitting back down on the bed next to him, clutching her clothes in minutely shaking hand. It wasn’t like she truly needed to change clothes; when Ms. McCall had stitched up her back, which she could now feel since the adrenaline had worn off, she must’ve had one of the others help her change Stiles into something that didn’t have blood-and-dirt stains. Problem was, it was one of the nightgowns from what was left of her mother’s things, so it was like a tarp on Stiles’ thin frame. It would be better to have a shirt that wasn’t falling off her shoulders.

Peter chuckled, placing a hand on her back and leaching the pain from the gashes on her back. “Now, let’s not get hasty,” He admonished, smirking. Stiles giggled.

The two sat in silence for a while, Stiles taking comfort in her godfather and the safety he brought, Peter letting the relief he felt from having his goddaughter and great-niece safe flow through him. _If only Derek could see me now_ , Stiles thought bitterly, ignoring the stab of pain that shot through her at the very thought of the Alpha, _See me being all familiar with the very man he’d never wanted me to be less than three feet from. Take that, you bastard._

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked about your daughter yet, Stiles,” Peter commented, taking his hand off her back. Stiles smiled at him and motioned for him to close his eyes and face away from her while she changed. He rolled his eyes but did as she asked, going as far as to tie a scarf (Isaacs; Stiles had stolen it from him before she’d left) around his eyes. She changed into her old red hoodie and black shorts quickly, taking the scarf off of Peter once she was done.

“I figured she was with Cora and Isaac,” Stiles admitted, though she did feel a bit guilty about not having asked earlier.

“She is,” Peter said. His face suddenly fell, becoming more serious than she’d seen him in a long time. The last time he had this look on his face, he was asking her whether or not she was going to tell Derek that he had a daughter.

“Stiles,” Peter began, pausing again before pushing forward, “Cora told me that Markus was dead.”

Stile froze, a sudden onslaught of memories bombarding her brain. Markus, “ _My turn to save you, darlin’_ ”, the screams, oh _god_ , the _screams_ , and the _blood_ and the _snarls_ and the _howls_. She’d never be able to forget the screams, as if the flesh was being ripped from bone, as if Markus was begging Death herself for release. The _blood_ , the _fire_ , _burning_ _death_ _destruction_ _gore_ **_screams_** —

“Stiles!” The shout brought her back from her mind. She stilled, gasping for breath, the clothes in her hands clenched tightly. Peter was rubbing her arms soothingly, standing in front of her so that she could clearly see his face. His eyes were glowing blue, the color she had started to associate with just him anymore.

“Sorry,” She choked out, bending forward so that her forehead rested against his shoulder, “Sorry, it’s just. I couldn’t save him.”

She started to cry, silent tears slipping steadily down her swollen cheeks, “I couldn’t save him, Peter. He just told me to _go_ , and I did, and now he’s dead. _I couldn’t save him_ , Peter.”

Peter shushed her, trying his best to calm her down. Derek had always been better at it, knowing what to say, what not to say, what he could do and what he couldn’t. But Peter was her godfather; he’d been entrusted with her safety by her mother, long before Derek Hale waltzed into her life and left her broken on the doorstep. He could take care of the child who was his responsibility.

Stiles slid down so that she was curled into Peter, like a small child begging for comfort. He wasn’t doing enough, he knew, to calm her down. Resolute, he picked her up and took her into the bathroom. Sitting with her on the cold tile floors, he pealed the now-wrinkled clothing out of her hands and put them on the counter above them. Then, knowing he was beaten by the panic that had engulfed his goddaughter, Peter took his phone out of his pocket and called for reinforcements.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Stiles should have been embarrassed, seeing as how she was naked as the day she was born, sitting in a bathtub of warm water, and surrounded by four women, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Cora, Lydia, Allison, and Erica had shown up ten minutes after Peter had called, pushing him out of the bathroom and stripping her of the too-big nightgown she’d been sitting in. Lydia had filled the tub with warm water and some sort of calming liquid, something she assured the others wouldn’t irritate the stitches in her back, pushing a totally naked Stiles into the bath. Erica had taken up position at the side of the tub near Stiles’ head, running one hand through her curly brown hair and making sure she didn’t slip and dunk her head under the water. Allison took the clothes she’d grabbed and placed them out, folding the nightgown and grabbing a towel from under the sink. Lydia and Cora sat at Stiles’ feet, watching her face for any sight of the panic.

It took almost half an hour for Stiles to calm down enough to notice her bareness. She mentioned, or more slurred, to Erica that she should be embarrassed, but she didn’t have enough energy to care. Erica had laughed a bit somberly, ruffling her hair before resuming the soothing motion of combing through Stiles wild curls. Finally, when Stiles was calm enough to pick up her hands without her entire arm shaking, the four women let her out of the tub. They didn’t, however, let her dry herself off. Cora wrapped her in a towel, but they all sat on the floor of the bathroom.

“Stiles, what happened?” Allison asked finally, after the five sat in silence for five minutes.

Stiles sighed, too tired to even panic anymore, “I had a dream. Well, it was a memory, really, you know how you sometimes dream in memories instead of real dreams?”

“Stiles, you’re rambling.” Cora smirked, laughing when Stiles gave her a wounded look. The tension that had enveloped the room suddenly broke, and the five women all laughed.

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled. She shook her head, trying to prioritize her thoughts. What could she tell them? There were certain things that she just couldn’t say, not even to herself. Where would she even start? She opened and closed her mouth several times before she said,

“Well, I met a man named Markus in South Carolina. I was five months pregnant at the time, had no money, no job; didn’t have anything other than the clothes on my back and whatever I had in the jeep. I’m walking around town, trying to find anywhere that had a “Help Wanted” sign, when he walks up to me and asks me if I needed any help,” She chuckled then, remembering how different Markus had looked. He’d had dyed jet black hair, baggy clothes, and a slouch. Looked like he was fresh out of college and down on his luck.

“I thought he was being an asshole, so I told him I didn’t need any charity. He said, of course not, he wanted to give me a job. Said he needed a secretary for his vets office. Of course, I asked him why he was asking a random woman on the street if she wanted a job, and he told me ‘Well, you look sharp, and got a kid on the way. You’re travelin’ light, runnin’ from somethin’. Just thought you’d need some money for the kid.’”

“And, let me guess, you couldn’t say no?” Lydia asked, a half-smirk-half-smile on her lips.

Stiles chuckled, “Yeah, that’s about right. I started the next day. After about a week, he asked me if I needed a place to stay. Of course I did, so he let me stay in the guest room of his apartment. We became great friends in the month before Rose was born.”

“She was premature?” Allison asked.

Stiles nodded, “Two months premature. So tiny she could’ve fit into the palm of my hand. My hospital bills were through the roof. I thought I’d have to skip town, leave the bills unpaid. I hadn’t given them my real name anyway, so I could’ve. Only, when I go to check out, they tell me that my bills were already paid. Turns out, the guy I’d been working for, for a month, was pretty wealthy.

“I told him that I didn’t want any charity, and I’d be working off this debt to him for the rest of my life. So I went back to work, stayed in his guest room with little Rosie, and life went on. Only, after about six months, I learned that Markus was just as involved in the supernatural world as I was.

“A guy comes stumbling in to the office at like, 10 p.m. one day. He collapses in front of the desk, and when I went around to help him, I could see his claws and yellow eyes. Markus came running in, telling me to get back, go to the back room, he’d handle it. I told him he’d want my help, because I knew how to draw wolfsbane out of a wound.

“He was so surprised that I knew what was happening that he let me help. We patched the wolf up, gave him some advice and sent him on his way. Once we were sure that the wolf was gone, he turned to me and asked me how the hell I knew about werewolves. So I sat him down and told him everything.”

“You sure you could trust him?” Erica asked, dark eyes flashing yellow for a moment.

“Yes, Catwoman, I was sure,” Stiles said, exasperated, “Once everything was out in the open, he told me that, apparently, there was a pack of wolves after me. Rose was an unclaimed werewolf, a baby Omega, for all intents and purposes. They thought she needed a real pack.

“I wanted to leave right away, but Markus told me to wait. He packed up his truck, helped me pack all of my things, and left with me. This man, whom I met less than a year before, packed up and left his home to follow a woman and her werewolf daughter,” Stiles smiled, “It was then that I first realized he was more like a brother to me than a friend. We traveled everywhere, trying to keep this pack off our tails. Two days ago, they found us.

“I had gone with Rose to go get some supplies, and the pack jumped me. I barely made it out with my life. We ran all the way back to the cabin we were staying at, but the pack wasn’t giving up. We weren’t going to be able to survive with just a ring of mountain ash separating us from this pack. So Markus told me to run, that he’d distract them.”

Stiles paused, bowing her head. She saw Cora put her hands over her mouth, eyes wide as she figured it all out. The women all huddled closer to her, as if giving her their strength. Cora wrapped one arm around her shoulder, pressing her head against Stiles’ neck.

“I didn’t know what he was going to do. But I agreed, because he told me, “Not this time. My turn to save you, darlin’”. He cut the line of mountain ash and taunted the wolves, giving them something to chase while Rose and I got away.”

She heard several gasps as they all realized what had happened, and barreled on, “I heard him scream, and I knew I couldn’t save him. He gave up his life to help me get away, so I continued on. By the time the screams stopped, Rose and I were far enoguht to have a head start.

“When I fell asleep, I relived that. Only, when I kept driving, I saw Markus. He was… his body was destroyed. He was asking me why I didn’t come back for him.”

Stiles was crying again, she knew, but she kept talking, “I don’t know why I couldn’t save him. I had a plan, I could’ve kept him with me. He could be alive right now. But I couldn’t, and now he’s dead.”

Erica whined, plastering herself to Stiles’ right side. Cora ran a hand through her hair, much like Erica had done before. Lydia and Allison whispered comforting things, trying to calm her back down. All these people, whom she had left without a word four years ago, were helping her without a second thought.

‘ _Pull yourself together, Stilinski_ ,’ Stiles told herself, ‘ _He wouldn’t want you to cry for him_.’

After a few minutes, she disentangled herself from the two wolves and got dressed, letting Erica help her pull the shirt on. She was still crying, but there wasn’t much to help that. She’d cry for a bit, and then everything would be back to normal. Well, as normal as her life could be.

The five girls walked back into Stiles’ room, letting Stiles lie down in the middle of the bed before piling around her. Erica as at one side, burrowing into her chest much like Rosie would when she was sleepy. Cora lay behind Stiles’ head, letting her stomach be a pillow and draping an arm down where Lydia lay, on Stiles’ other side. Allison curled up at their feet, using erica’s longer legs as pillows.

Surrounded by friends, Stiles found herself calmed and sleepy. Either that, or Lydia had drugged her. Either way, curled around all these friends who knew now why she was running, she fell asleep quickly.

This time, she dreamed of the day she, Mark, and Rosie spent at a lake in Missouri. In her sleep, she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I know it was a totally lame ending. Don't blame me. This chapter just got way out of hand. I didn't know if I was ever going to finish it.  
> So, do you guys like Markus? Really, please tell me. I'm thinking of maybe writing him in, just because I love him so much. I have the power to do so, as the writer. If you want me to write him in or despise the idea, please leave a comment telling me. (And yes, he's a southern man who speaks Welsh. He's just awesome like that. Also, can you guess what he is? I didn't make it obvious, but I think maybe one or two of you will get it.)  
> The next chapter, hopefully, will not be as lengthy. I think Derek is finally gonna show up. Maybe. Possibly. I don't really know, since I haven't written the chapter yet.  
> Alright, so, the next chapter might take a bit. I'll be doing my homework for the next two-to-three days, and then I have school next Thursday. When school starts, updates will be scattered. I apologize in advanced.  
> And please, tell me if Peter is being a bit too familiar here. I've never been in a relationship, so I don't know if he's overstepping the line between friend and lover. He's her godfather, for god sakes. He's not supposed be be like a freaking lover.  
> Thanks for reading, guys. Your comments, kudos, and bookmarks make me smile like a loon. Especially you, Hannah, because you always comment some variation of "I LOVE THIS SO MUCH OMG" and it makes me laugh every time.  
> Last thing, would you guys like me to reply to you? I can be a bit of a sarcastic bitch, and it doesn't translate well over text, but if you really want me to, I'll reply to them.  
> That's all for now, folks. Again, thanks for reading and commenting and kudo-ing. See ya'll next chapter!


	5. I'm a Stitch Away From Making It (And a Scar Away From Falling Apart)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember when I said the next chapter would be awhile? Well, I lied. Again. I feel like I'm giving you people trust issues.  
> No, but really, I'm just procrastinating on my homework. I have a shitton to do before school starts this Thusday, and I'm freaking out, but I can't seem to make myself focus on it. I have to annotate the entirety of The Crucible, answer four essay questions, explain three AP questions, and "select five influential quotes from [The Crucible] and explain the quote's significance/importance and how it aides in the thematic development of the play." If anyone wants to help me out with the last part (you don't have to, just if you want to), you can submit it to my tumblr, here ----> paleassassin.tumblr.com  
> Yes, I did just ask ya'll for help on my homework.  
> A question before we get to the chapter, though. Do you guys want me to reveal why Stiles and Derek broke up? I was gonna leave that for an argument in a future chapter, but I could do it next chapter if you really want to know.  
> Okay, well, that's all I really have to say right now. Here's the

When Stiles woke up the next morning, it was to the smell of bacon (real bacon, not the cheap dollar store bacon that she’d been eating for so long) and a living space heater attached to her chest, with four more adjoining ones on each side. Swollen, crusty eyes opened slowly, only to be met with a mop of curly dark hair. Rose smiled in her sleep, nuzzling her mother and making sure Stiles would get a mouthful of her still-wet hair. Someone must’ve given her a bath while Stiles slept.

Looking around, Stiles found no way to get up. All four girls were still curled up on all sides; Lydia and Allison looking just as uncomfortably hot in their sleep as Stiles felt now, Erica and Cora looking content and almost happier than they’d seemed before she’d left. And, with a little three year old that almost never slept well almost comatose on her chest, stiles didn’t think she’d have any luck in getting up anytime soon.

But that bacon smelled _so good_.

She’d been sitting there for five minutes, debating on whether she’d disturb her sleeping daughter and four friends, when she heard the door open. Peter peaked his head in, looking at the six girls piled on the bed with a small smile before noticing that Stiles was awake. He opened his mouth, probably to ask how she was, but she pressed a finger to her lips, motioning at the five people who were currently trapping her in with their cuddling. Peter chuckled, slipping into the room.

Despite Stiles’ protests, he picked Rose up from her place on her mother’s chest and cradled her against him, letting Stiles wriggle out of the pile of limbs that were her friends. Peter kept a hold of Rose, turning around and closing his eyes (which he was still rolling his eyes about, since it was his _goddaughter_ , he’d known her _mother_ ) while Stiles stripped out of her hoodie and shorts and slipping into a pair of jeans and a black v-neck. Peter kept a hold of Rose, shaking his head when Stiles motioned for him to give her over, shaking his head and pointing with his free hand to her back. She sighed silently, careful not to wake anyone up, and motioned for Peter to go, so she could follow.

The three made their way down to the kitchen, Rose still fast asleep in her great-uncles arms. In the kitchen sat Scott, Isaac, Boyd, Jackson, Danny, Ethan, and Melissa McCall. The four werewolves and two humans looked up at them when they entered, and Stiles had maybe three seconds before Isaac, Jackson, Boyd, and Scott descended upon her. Isaac curled up at her chest, with Boyd and Scott on either side, and Jackson squeezing in beside Isaac, hugging her as if their lives depended on it. Stiles let out a laugh, running a hand through Isaacs curls and patting both Scott and Boyd on the head, and pushed them away. Isaac was back in a second, pressing his nose to her neck. He was shaking, like he was scared or nervous. Like he was afraid she’d leave again.

“Isaac,” Stiles said, suddenly serious, “Isaac, I’m not leaving again. Not right now.”

He looked down at her, eyes big and wet with unshed tears, “Promise?”

Stiles smiled, staring up at him with the best comforting look that she could manage, “I promise, pup. I’m not going anywhere.” _At least until I know it’s safe enough to leave_ , she thought. But it wasn’t a lie, not directly, so Isaac took it, slowly letting go of her. Danny replaced him, hugging her tightly, but almost hyper-aware of the stitches in her back. By the look Melissa was giving them (something between relief and watchfulness), she guessed that the older woman had drilled it into the men’s brains that they were not allowed to further injure her. 

When Danny let go of her, she expected Ethan to come over and hug her as well. They hadn’t had the best relationship (hell, they’d both _threatened_ each other on multiple occasions), but she’d been pack before she’d left, and had helped him through his brother’s death. When Danny couldn’t be there for nightmares or guilt trips, it was Stiles sitting at his side, holding his hand and whispering the most comforting things she could think of.  They hadn’t really been best friends, but they’d been friends.

So it confused her that he was standing exactly where he had been, with his head down and eyes staring at his feet like they were the most interesting thing in the world. He fiddled with his hands, shifting from one foot to the other at her stare.  It was then that she frowned, recognizing the way he was standing. He was nervous. He thought she wouldn’t want him to hug her. He thought they were still frenemies, or whatever the hell else Scott would call them; people who had once been enemies but were now more like acquaintances.

“Ethan,” Stiles said calmly, smiling and opening her arms wide when he snapped his gaze up to look at her, “Come ‘ere.”

Barely a second later, she had 200 pounds of young-adult werewolf curled against her in a hug. Ethan did the same as Isaac, pushing his nose into her neck and curling his arms around her waist. She pushed one hand through his hair, letting the other curl around his back. The once-Alpha whimpered in her ear, hugging her tightly for a second, and letting go a second later. Stiles thought she saw some tears in his eyes, but for his sake (and for the sake of her life) she ignored it.

Melissa walked up to her next, wrapping both arms around her and hugging her in a lose-but-comforting way. It was almost motherly, and Stiles found herself leaning into the comfort she gave. Hers was the shortest, though; she seemed to be even more aware of her injuries than Danny was. It wasn’t surprising, seeing as she had stitched Stiles up herself.

Looking around at all the people in the kitchen, Stiles couldn’t help but notice one person missing. “Where’s my dad?” She asked, looking specifically at Scott and his mom.

“Right here,” A gruff voice said from behind her.

Stiles spun around so fast that Isaac had to grab onto her arm to keep her from falling. She shook her arm free of his tight hold, stepping towards the doorway that she’d been through minutes before. Her dad was standing in it, holding a jug of milk and a bag that looked like it was full of pancake mix. He looked almost exactly the same as when she’d left, other than the greying in his hair that wasn’t as severe four years ago, the scar across his cheek, and the slight way he was holding his right side, like his leg had been hurt.

He was staring at her like he couldn’t believe she was there; like he thought he would try to touch her and she would disappear. Stiles walked towards him until she was face to face with her father, barely noticing that Scott took away the milk and the bag, too occupied with looking up at him with a wonder that was almost childlike. The two stared at each other for a full minute before the Sheriff moved, grabbing onto her and pulling her into a tight hug. Stiles felt the stitches on her back protest at the contact, but couldn’t bring herself to care. She buried her head into his chest, letting a few tears slip and squeezing him back just as tightly. She couldn’t get over how she was here, after four years of it being just her, Rose, and Markus. The emotions were almost overwhelming.

The small sound of, “Mama?” had Stiles pulling away all too soon for her liking. She turned to where Peter still was, holding a very tired-looking Rose. The little girl rubbed at her eyes, resting her head against her great-uncles chest, looking the part of a drowsy three year old who had just been woken up. Stiles smiled at her daughter, motioning for Peter to hand her over. He did so reluctantly, and she turned back to her father.

John Stilinski stared at his daughter as if he was seeing her for the first time. His gaze skipped from Peter, to Stiles, and down to the little dark-haired girl in her arms. Stiles smiled apprehensively, pressing her cheek against her daughters head for a moment and kissing her head.

Stiles looked down at her daughters employing toffee-colored eyes, “Rosamund, this is your Grandpa John. Dad,” She looked up at her dad, a scared look in her eyes, “Dad, this is my daughter, Rosamund Stilinski.”

John looked startled, staring at the little girl in his daughters arms. Rose stared back at him, eyes wide, but a tired smile on her chubby, pale face. She lifted her arms, making it clear that she wished for her grandpa to pick her up.

He did so, lifting the three year old out of his daughters arms and settling her on his hip. Rose pressed a quick kiss on his cheek and mumbled a little “Hi”, before settling down with her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes. John gaped at the little girl.

Stiles chuckled a bit, blinking away the tears that were still gathered at the corners of her eyes. She’d been crying so much lately, she was surprised that she even had tears left to shed. She kept them in though; it wouldn’t do well for her daughter to see her cry. Stiles was invincible to her daughter, and she never wanted her daughter to see her weak.

“Stiles,” Her father said, making her name sound like it was a question, “What?”

It wasn’t an articulate question, but she knew what he was asking. “She was born about three and a half years ago. She’s a werewolf, so we’ve been on the run since about six months after she was born.”

Stiles dropped her head, “I’m sorry I didn’t come back, dad. I… couldn’t. It was too dangerous.”

“And it wasn’t dangerous being on the run with a newborn and no one to protect you?” He asked incredulously.

“We wasn’t ‘lone,” Rose slurred, the slight southern accent she’d picked up from Markus making itself apparent, “We got Markus an’ he p’rtected mama and me.”

John looked at his granddaughter with the same shocked look he’d been giving Stiles, “Markus?”

Rose nodded, answering before her mom could, “Markus. He’s gone now.”

Stiles swallowed, a fresh wave of pain and grief washing over her. All six werewolves, besides Rose, who’d been waltzing around the kitchen getting breakfast ready to give the three some privacy, froze when the smelled the pain. Peter walked over, pressing a hand to Stiles’ shoulder.

“Markus was a friend, dad,” She said tiredly, leaning slightly into Peter’s hand, “He helped us out. Stayed with me before Rose was even born, then followed me while I ran from a pack that’s after Rosie. He died three days ago, after sacrificing himself to let us get away.”

Stiles was too tired and emotionally drained to react to the gasps that sounded around the room. Rose looked up from her grandfather’s chest, holding up her arms in the universal motion that meant she wanted her mother to pick her up. Stiles did so, cuddling her daughter to her chest. Peter kissed the top of her head, ignoring the looks he got from everyone but Ethan.

John looked torn between hugging his daughter again and questioning her more. Luckily, at that time, the four women who’d been asleep upstairs came down to the kitchen. Cora, Allison, and Erica all had terrible bed-heads and slight bags under their eyes, but Lydia looked like she’d just spent two hours on her make up. Stiles would never understand how she looked so amazing all the time.

“Pancakes?” Allison slurred, stepping into Scotts arms and collapsing against him.

Boyd and Isaac chuckled at the ecstatic look on Scotts face. Jackson went over to Lydia, pressing a kiss to her cheek and handing her a cup of coffee. Cora walked over to Isaac, stealing his coffee and sipping from it. Erica let Boyd mess with her hair, making sure it fell flat instead of bunched up in several places. It was all very domestic, and it made Stiles smile.

“Pancakes, mama?” Rose asked hopefully, waking up a bit more at the thought of food. Stiles laughed, ruffling her hair. Melissa handed her a plate of chocolate-chip pancakes and giving Rose a glass of milk. Stiles sat down at the table, setting Rosie on her lap and cutting part of the pancakes, putting aside the largest chunk for herself and cutting her daughters up into small pieces. Boyd came forward to give Rose a fork and Stiles a cup of coffee.

The rest of the group sat down with their pancakes. Roses eyes got wide at Scott’s plate, then even wider at Boyd’s. Boyd smiled at her, making a show of stuffing an entire pancake in his mouth. Rose squealed and clapped her hands, entirely too impressed with the little show. The rest of the breakfast was spent with all the werewolves trying to impress a three year old, doing ridiculous and stupid things. So when the doorbell rang, no one was paying attention enough to really hear it except for Stiles. She excused herself to answer the door, laughing as she opened the door as Isaac used one of his pancakes as a spyglass.

As soon as the door was open, though, all Stiles’ laughter ceased. She stepped back and dropped her head, suddenly scared for her life. A low growl came from the man at the door. She stepped back again, barely noticing that the entire house had gone silent in the wake of the new arrival. Her hands clenched, fingernails driving into her palms forcefully. A hand grabbed Stiles’ chin, forcing her to look into blood-red eyes. She stared back resolutely, ignoring the nervous pounding of her heart.

“Hello, Derek.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was basically my "fuck you" to ya'll. No not really I love each and every one of you but that was like the best place to stop this before it became as long as last chapter. I was already a thousand over what I wanted to finish with, so I kind of just stoppedittheredon'tkillmeplease.  
> Anyway, really thank you guys so much for your comments. I love it when I get questions because I love thinking things through more than I usually do. I found that out by rereading and realizing a few things I'd messed up on. Not plot holes, just stupid things like saying Lydia was quiet and then saying she was yelling with the other girls. I really need to figure out how to ask someone to be a beta reader or whatever those are called.  
> Well, it's late, I'm tired, and I might add more notes later, but I'm too tired to remember what else I was going to put here. So good night, good morning, good day, and I'll see ya'll next chapter.  
> *edit* I FORGOT TO TELL YOU GUYS THIS. When I was writing this, I forgot to include Jackson and only remembered while watching old episodes of "Lydia After Dark". Also, the reason Stiles smells bacon in the morning is because I was making bacon at the time and couldn't stop thinking about eating it. There's me projecting on my characters again.


	6. Don’t Apologize (I’m Losing What I Don’t Deserve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, after /that/ fucking episode? I’m staying up all night to write the next two chapters. I’m splitting them in half so those of you who are really triggered by adultery can skip the flashback chapter, which will be chapter seven. You guys are lucky I love you all. Also you’re lucky Jeff Davis is a FUCKING ASSHOLE WHO NEEDS TO STOP WITH THE FEELS. This thing is pretty much completely AU now because /fuck/ no Derek isn’t giving up his Alpha powers, but Cora still lives. I’ll think about how I’ll tie that in later.  
> I’m guessing a lot of you have already read this, but if not, this has been reuploaded. I’ll put a warning here now, this chapter has mentions of adultery. If that is not something you are comfortable with, I suggest you stop reading. This will deal with the aftereffects of cheating and how two characters get back together. I have already explained that this will be a “I cheated on you to protect you and the entire pack” fic, so if that is not your forte, you should stop reading. I would hope that you would continue, but I will be deleting any comments that say “Adultery disturbs me and I am going to stop reading.” I have warned you in tags and in notes, and it is not my fault if you do not read them.  
> With that said, the next chapter will be uploaded in about a week’s time. I’m still doing homework for when school starts Thursday, and I will likely have homework to do on Friday. In all hopes, the next chapter will be up Monday or Tuesday. Saturday at the earliest. Nope not now they'll probably be up tomorrow morning. Tomorrow night at the latest. Fuck this bullshit I need something good to hold on to after that fucking episode. I'm still pissed as hell, as you can see.  
> For anyone who hasn’t read this, there’s a surprise at the end of the chapter, so I’ll let you get to it.

“Stiles,” Her name was growled, low and dangerous. It made her flinch and struggle to get out of his grip, but if anything, the grip on her chin tightened. Her jaw smarted sharply.

“You’re gonna give me a bruise, there, sourwolf,” Stiles said, stopping her struggles to just stare at him. His eyes were still Alpha red, glaring at her with angry, narrow eyes. It reminded her almost too much of the last time they saw each other, him glaring and her mouthing off to hide her hurt.

“Derek, let go,” Peter said from behind her. Stiles hadn’t heard them walk up, but felt Cora press a hand to her shoulder and Peter curl a hand into the back of her shirt. Scott, Jackson, Boyd, Erica, Ethan, and Isaac were growling from behind her. From what she could hear, Scott was growling the loudest, or maybe he was just the closest to her. Either way, having each member of his pack growling and glaring at him startled him into dropping her chin.

Immediately, Cora and Peter tried to pull Stiles into the safety of the group. She shook off their hands, taking only one step back before staring defiantly at Derek. He was the only one she’d seen that looked completely different. He was stooped over, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He had dark bags under his eyes and a long, thin scar on his stubbled cheek. His fingernails had cut into her jaw; not his claws, but his actual fingernails, which he’d bitten into a rough shape. The Alpha life seemed to be hard on him. As much as she hated it, Stiles couldn’t help but think, ‘ _Good. It should be hard on you. I shouldn’t be the only one who feels old before their time._ ’

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” Derek snarled, lips curling up in a sneer. She used to have fantasies about those lips, and now, all she wanted to do was break the teeth behind them.

“Did you really think you could dictate where I went and where I didn’t?” She said back instead of answering. She hadn’t wanted to play this way, but for god’s sake, did he really think he could do this?

“You were pack--”

“Key word there being _were_ , smartass,” Stiles snapped back.

“Guys!” Scott shouted, stopping them both. The two turned their glares to him, but he’d been best friends with Stiles for years and had to deal with his mom at her worst, he was pretty immune.

“Shouldn’t we at least take this inside?” He suggested, motioning for the others to walk back into the house. Stiles followed, walking in front of Cora and Peter, who had separated her and Derek. Melissa and John were sitting in the living room, both tense despite not really being able to hear what had been going on. Rose was sitting on John’s lap, playing with the stuffed wolf Markus had given her for her second birthday. Someone must have brought it with them when they brought Rose over.

“Mama!” Rose shouted as soon as she saw Stiles. She scrambled out of her grandpa’s lap, clutching onto ‘Remmy’, her wolf, as she squirmed down to the floor. She grabbed at her mom, begging to be picked up. It usually made Stiles laugh, how demanding her daughter could be. But being in such close proximity to the very person who drove her out of town four years ago made her much less amused at her daughter’s antics.

“You brought a strange wolf here?” Derek rumbled, staring at Rose like she was an ugly foreign object. Stiles picked her up, clutching her tightly to her chest.

“She’s not a strange wolf, Derek,” Stiles hissed, ignoring the quizzical look she was getting from her daughter, “She’s my daughter, Rose.

Derek’s glare shifted suddenly, turning into a curious glance as his eyebrows pushed together. “Daughter?” He asked.

Stiles rolled her eyes, “Yes, Derek, daughter. Couldn’t you smell that on her?”

“Okay, guys,” Cora interrupted, stepping between Stiles and Derek, “Shouldn’t we get to why Stiles is here before you have you’re customary “You broke up with me” conversation?”

Stiles nodded, thankful Cora had gotten her back on track. She handed Rose off to Peter, ignoring the way Derek narrowed his eyes at the interaction. Sitting down on the couch next to her dad and Melissa, she was startled that the pack surrounded her in a protective ring, leaving Derek sitting alone in the recliner on the opposite side of the room. Isaac took the seat at stiles’ feet, Scott sitting next to him. Ethan and Danny took the love seat, while Erica, Boyd, Lydia, and Jackson took the perpendicular couch. Allison and Cora sat on the arms of the couch Stiles was sitting on, looking almost like pillars. Peter, after placing Rose upstairs to be entertained by “The Princess Bride” (totally his fault, no matter what Cora said), took the seat next to Stiles.

“Derek,” Stiles started after an awkward silence, “My daughter and I have been on the run from a pack for as long as Rose has been alive. They want her to be in their pack, thinking a human is unable to raise a werewolf child. They’ve attacked me, my friends, and, on occasion, Rose herself.”

That got a gasp out of everyone but the Hales, and Derek, picking up on the formal tone, asked, “What do you want from us?”

“Protection,” Stiles said simply, “My friend Markus was our last defense against these wolves, and he was killed by them three days ago. It gave me and Rose enough time to get away, but we need somewhere safe.”

Stiles sighed, suddenly exhausted. “I’m tired of running,” She admitted, “I’m tired of dragging my daughter from state to state, trying to keep her safe from everything and everyone. I don’t have anyone left to turn to. Trust me, if I had somewhere else to go, I’d be there.”

She squirmed a bit, stilling when both Peter and her dad placed a hand on her knees. Running a hand through her hair, wincing as the motion pulled at her stitches, and looked up through her bangs at her ex-boyfriend. “All I need to know,” She said, “is if you will protect my daughter.”

“What about you?” Of course, Scott would pick up on that. The boy could be so stupid, but at the same time, could be almost as brilliant as Lydia.

“I don’t matter,” She sighed, “What matters is Rose.”

“You can’t possibly mean that,” Erica demanded.

“You matter to us,” Jackson mumbled, not as quiet as he thought he was being.

“How could you think that?” Isaac stuttered, eyes wide.

“Enough.” Derek said, glaring around at his betas. They all shut up, snapping their jaws shut with audible clicks. They still looked wounded at the thought that Stiles didn’t matter, but they couldn’t argue with their Alpha.

Stiles smiled at them, albeit a bit sadly. “Come on, guys,” She said, “Do you really think I’d be allowed to stay here?”

“Why not?” Danny asked, ignoring the glare he got from Derek.

She stared at him incredulously, then at Derek. “You didn’t tell them?”

“Tell us what?” Boyd asked, looking between his Alpha and Stiles.

“Derek kicked her out, of the pack and out of town,” Cora explained with a growl in her older brother’s direction.

A sudden clamor broke out as shouts rang out. Kick Stiles out of the pack? What was Derek thinking? How could he do that without consulting them? What grounds could he even find to do that?

“Don’t forget,” Derek fumed while standing up, his low voice carrying over his betas shouts, “You broke up with me, Stiles.”

Anger rose in her chest, almost suffocating her with its suddenness. He was going to try that? He was going to tell her it was her fault she ended up with a child and running from people she didn’t even know? After four years of pent up anger, Stiles couldn’t keep herself from doing what she’d wanted to do for years. Standing up, she stalked over to Derek, stopping in front of him and poking him in the chest. “You’re going to blame me?” She seethed, “You’re going to say that I’m the one who forced us apart?”

The whole house went silent, but Stiles barely noticed. She was seeing red, anger and rage burning through her veins, waking up old emotions and responses that she’d kept hidden for so long. She wasn’t going to be stopped, not now. “You want to blame me for you pushing me away? You’re the one who cheated on me, you asshole!”

The last sentence ended with a shout and a thrown punch, Stiles’ hand connecting with Derek’s jaw. She heard knuckles crack and break on his granite jaw, but couldn’t find it in herself to care. The rage was filling her entire being, making her feel six feet tall and invincible. She got up into his face, shoving his head down so that he was level with her. His eyes were burning red, but hers were glinting dangerously.

“You’re the one who fucked some werewolf chick, then told me that I was too weak to be the Alpha’s mate.” Her voice started out as a low, deadly rumble, but slowly rose as the anger swelled in her chest, “You’re the one who told me to get out and never come back. You’re the one who got me pregnant, then forced me out of the only home I’ve ever known.”

She shoved him backwards. What she was saying startled enough to go with the push and fall backwards into the recliner. Stiles clenched her hands together in fists, feeling her right hand pulse with pain. The shock of it drained her of most of her anger, but she couldn’t help herself as she continued,

“Don’t you dare fucking blame this on me. All I did was fall in love with an Alpha who decided a human wasn’t good enough for him.”

With that, she turned around and fled. She heard Lydia and Allison give chase, but she was already jumping into her jeep and peeling away from the house. She was still so mad; the anger was almost suffocating. Her hands, or hand, as her right probably had a few cracked, if not broken, knuckles, were shaking on the steering wheel.

She was halfway out of Beacon Hills before she realized just what she’d done. ‘ _Fuck fuck **fuck**_ ,’ she thought, pulling over to the side of the rode to bang her head against the wheel, ‘ _It wasn’t supposed to go like that. They weren’t supposed to know._ ’

Stiles had made a promise to herself, before she was forced to come back to Beacon Hills. Years before, in fact. The day Rose was born, lying alone in a hospital bed, Stiles told herself that if she ever had to go back home, she would never tell anyone who Rose’s father was. The only people who would ever know about Rose’s father would be Peter and Cora.

(It was her fear that her daughter would be taken from her if it was found out that she was an Alpha’s daughter. Whether to get something out of the Alpha or to destroy him, her daughter would always be a target. That’s the main reason why she never told anyone but Peter, Cora, and Markus. Even Derek might take Rose from her; she was a human raising a werewolf, and no one thought she could do it. Least of all a born wolf.)

She’d broken that rule right out of the gate. Let her temper get the better of her, talked too much too fast, spilled the beans, whatever. Now, Derek knew that Rose was his daughter, and he would take her from Stiles.

‘ _No, not his daughter_ ,’ Stiles thought bitterly, pulling off the side of the road, ‘ _She’s my daughter, because he never wanted her in the first place._ ’

 ** _'But she's safer with him_** ,' A little voice in the back of her mind whispered, **_'A werewolf, raising his werewolf daughter. She's safer with him than she is with_** _you **, a mere**_ human.'

Stiles shook her head, trying to rid herself of the thought. It was true, though. Rosie was safer staying with Derek. She never deserved her daughter in the first place. Once Stiles knew about her, she was wanted, but Stiles never deserved Rose. And Rose deserved more than a human who couldn't even keep a good relationship with her ex-boyfriend.

None of that mattered right now, though. Stiles needed some time to cool down, catch her breath, maybe have a panic attack or three. There were very few places that her friends wouldn’t look for her, or anyone else for that matter. But there was one place she knew she could go. One place that no one wanted to go to, ever again.

She pulled off into the woods, following a dirt path that she hadn’t taken in four years. It was striking how easy it was to remember the way, even though the first time she’d come here, she’d been rushing to save her father’s life and Scott's mom’s life. Pulling the jeep up to the side, she walked out towards an old oak stump, once called the Nemeton, lying flat on her back on it. Staring up at the sky, Stiles gave the air around her a small, sad smile.

Staring off into nothing, she felt a ghostly hand run through her hair. She smiled more, the sadness almost completely draining from her face. Stiles turned her head to the right, giving the wooden figure her best impression of a wolf and laughing at the nasty look on her moss-covered face.

“Hi, Mom,” Stiles said, sitting up so the dryad could hug her.

“Geneviève,” The dryad smiled, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head, “It is very good to see you, Η κόρη μου.”

“It’s good to see you too, mom.” Stiles replied, laughing happily when her mother ruffled her hair.

The dryad giggled as well, pressing another kiss to her daughter’s head, before looking around and asking, “And where is this granddaughter Peter has told me about, αγάπη?”

Stiles looked down, swallowing hard. The sudden spike of terror her daughter admitted had the dryad moving closer, guiding her daughter to lay her head in her mother’s lap. Pulling a hand through Stiles’ hair, Agatha, formerly known as Claudia Stilinski, wondered what could’ve happened to make her daughter so scared at the mention of her own child.

“A lot has happened since I got here, mom, and most of it isn’t good,” Stiles mumbled, curling up around herself, “I’ve been here two days and I’ve already fucked everything up.”

Agatha slapped the back of Stiles’s head lightly, “Language, παιδί. And I doubt you could have messed up as badly as you must think.”

“I don’t know, mom,” She whispered into Agatha’s lap, “I did something really stupid.”

Agatha patted her daughter on her head, “Then tell me, Geneviève, and I will tell you what to do to fix it.”

Stiles smiled. This is why she came here. Her mother may not be able to live with her anymore, and maybe she isn’t human anymore, but she’s still a mom. She could help Stiles fix this mess she made.

And maybe she could kick Derek’s ass for her. But that might be stretching it a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'd you like my surprise? I know Stiles's mom supposedly died, but she can be "dead" and still be alive, right? Oh, hush, you know what I mean.  
> Anyway, what did you think about Stiles's mom being a dryad? I thought of the idea halfway through last chapter, and I loved it. Cause I really wanted to include Mama Stilinski and, for a while, I couldn't find a way that made her seem dead while she was really alive. I'll expand more on what happened to Mama Stilinski later. Also, the reason she's speaking Greek is because the myth of dryad's originated in Greece.  
> Seriously though that fucking episode made me whine. Like literally /whine/. Especially during the part where the Sheriff talks about his wife. I don't think I'll change the name, no wait, you know what, I'll do something better. I'm writing this before I do what I'm going to do, so you already know what I did. I'll leave it at that.  
> But really, thank you to the twenty-five odd people who were so fucking kind. This is basically my first fic, so I took things a bit too personally, but it was awesome to know there were still a shit-ton of you who liked my fic even after it took a turn a lot of you didn't like. You're all awesome.  
> Alright, well, I'm done with my notes. Thank you guys for your kudos, bookmarks and comments, and have a good day.


	7. You Said It's Not What It Seems (No Remorse For The Trust You're Breaking)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW. Edited and fixed. Also a bit longer. My bad.  
> I AM WARNING YOU NOW, THIS CHAPTER IS A FLASHBACK TO WHEN STILES FOUND OUT DEREK WAS CHEATING. IF ADULTERY/INFIDELITY TRIGGERS YOU, SKIP TO THE NEXT CHAPTER. THIS IS NOT A NECESSARY CHAPTER, WHICH IS WHY I WROTE TWO FOR THIS UPDATE.  
> That being said, HI AGAIN. I know I said I was going to be gone for a week, but yesterday's episode pissed me off so much that I decided to update now. I got the rest of my annotations done this afternoon, and I'm doing my questions when I finish the next chapter. Tomorrow, there will be no new chapter. I'll be spending my last day of freedom out on the town, window shopping and probably spending half of my money on clothes and make up that I don't need. Don't judge me.  
> If anyone can tell me what song the title is from, I will give you a hug and a cookie. Unless you don't like hugs, then I will give you a respectful nod and a cookie.  
> That's really it for the notes. I might add more for the next chapter, but you know. It is how it is.

Stiles couldn’t believe it was six in the morning.

Why the hell would she be up at six in the morning? On a Saturday, for that matter? What logic was found in that sentence? But here she was, driving to Derek’s flat at six-thirteen in the morning, covered in a new concoction Lydia had forced her to start wearing to see if it blocked her scent from werewolves. It was a good way to test the hypothesis, at least.

It was six in the morning, and Stiles wanted to surprise Derek. It had been a year since what was left of the Alpha pack had left. Only Ethan had stayed, becoming a beta in Derek’s pack after his brother was killed defending him. It had been almost exactly a year without any major kidnappings or Alpha-pack-level enemies, and she felt like making Derek breakfast would be the best way to celebrate “Happy One Year Of Not-Dying” anniversary. Chances were Derek would hear her nosing around the kitchen and come to help her, but whatever. It was the thought that counted.

Today was the perfect day for this, too. All the betas were out of the flat, even Isaac. He had gone over to Cora’s after a movie date with Allison and Scott, who’d gone back and crashed at the McCall’s. Danny was staying with Jackson while Danny was out of town visiting his brother, while Erica and Boyd were crashing in Stiles’ house for the time being. Peter was god knows where, she didn’t really want to know. They would’ve all been at the Hale house, but it was still being built and, therefore, had no water. It didn’t matter right now, though, because Stiles could have Derek all to herself for once, even if it was just two hours or so.

As she pulled up to the flat, Stiles hummed silently. She was going to do her best to sneak into the flat, surprise Derek a bit. It was why she was trying out the serum that Lydia had made now instead of during training; Derek rarely had something good in his life, and Stiles was doing her best to give him more of what he deserved. So if that meant waking up at ass-o’clock in the morning to make her boyfriend breakfast, then that’s what she would do.

It was easy enough to break into Derek’s apartment, seeing as he’d finally given her a damn key. The hardest part was sneaking in. How the hell could you sneak around when the occupant of the home has super-human hearing? Especially when you were like Stiles, who could hardly sit still and stay quiet for more than a minute?

In the end, Stiles just walked through the front door, not even trying to hide her presence. Either Derek was awake and would hear her, or he was asleep and she’d be able to start breakfast.

She smiled as she walked into the kitchen and set down the few things she’d brought with her. There was no pounding of feet against the concrete floor of the upper levels, so she could only think that Derek was still asleep. He did that from time to time, now that there was no constant danger lurking around and hiding in every corner.

Still, Stiles wanted to check if he was even here. He usually woke up to footsteps in his house; an old habit that came with years of evading multiple enemies who didn’t know that it was impolite to invite yourself into someone else’s home. She was puzzled that he hadn’t already heard her jeep and come downstairs. It was only polite to see if your girlfriend needed anything, especially when said girlfriend was supposed to be the Alpha’s mate.

“Derek?” She called, heading for the staircase. The eerie echo of her own voice answered her, bouncing off the concrete walls of the flat and pounding into Stiles’ ear drums.  A sick sense of fear filled her.

“Derek? No, don’t do that, Stilinski, what the hell are you thinking? That’s how every dumbass character in a horror movie dies,” She was whispering to herself, trying to get rid of the sense of foreboding that had suddenly shrouded her mind. Why the hell would something bad happen now? Everything had been fine. He was just asleep, deep asleep. He hadn’t been able to since he first showed up in Beacon Hills, not until Peter wasn’t an alpha, Boyd and Erica had been rescued, Cora had been saved, the Darach had been killed, and the Alpha pack had been defeated. It was fine. Everything would be fine.

Stiles slowly walked up the stairs, taking them one at a time and making sure that none of the metal squeaked. If this was the beginning to a bad horror movie, Stiles wasn’t going to be the character she and Scott always yelled at. She was going to be the smart one, the one who knows what’s going on and has a plan—

She stopped at the top, putting a hand over her mouth to stop the gasp as she reached the top of the stairs. There, on the bed in the middle of the loft, curled up around some blonde bombshell, was her boyfriend of a year and a half. Derek had a peaceful smile on his face, with his cheek pressed against the blonde’s head, like he was breathing in her scent. The blonde had an arm across him, pressing her ear against his chest, right near his heart. Right where she rested when they got the day alone.

For a minute, all she could see is _red red **red** why why **why would he do this** am I not **good** enough why the hell is he doing this why didn’t I _**know** _about this **Derek** why why **why** -_

And then Stiles was flying down the stairs, avoiding the eyes of the blonde who had woken up as well as the Alpha-red of her own boyfriends. Boyfriend? No, **_hell_** no. Derek wasn’t her boyfriend now, not after this. That lying, cheating bastard was going to get mountain ash in the face, silver knuckles against his cheek; this bastard was going to-

“Stiles!” A hand reached out and grabbed her wrist just as she opened the door to the flat. Stiles tried to yank her wrist away without turning, but another hand grasped her shoulder and forced her turn. Derek’s eyes were wide, scared. And he damn well should be.

Stiles pushed him back, startling him just enough to have him let go. She stared at his face for a second, taking in the mark of red lipstick on his cheek and his almost-nakedness. He’d barely even managed to grab a blanket before running after her.

“What, Derek?” She spat, glaring at him with all the fury and betrayal she was feeling, “What could you possibly have to say?”

“I…” He started, but Stiles cut him off.

“No, you fucking bastard. You can’t say a thing. What, am I not good enough for you? Not pretty enough? Not sexy enough? Not-“

“Not strong enough,” He said, monotone; all emotion was gone from his face.

Stiles paled. What? Strong enough?

“You’re human, Stiles,” Derek said, staring at her with dead eyes and an emotionless face and _oh god Derek stop please don’t_ , “You aren’t strong enough to help lead a pack. I need a werewolf mate to cement the pack. I need someone who has a use to this pack.”

There was a bitter chuckle, but Stiles barely heard it. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Every doubt, every thought she’d had about her being the useless human in the pack was being thrown at her. And it wasn’t just a pack member anymore, it was her boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. The man she loved. And he was telling her everything she’d thought for so long.

“Did you really think this little affair would go on forever, Stiles?” He asked quietly, almost as if he was talking to a child. That started Stiles out of her stupor, and she snapped a hand up to slap him. He went with the momentum, probably saving her from a broken wrist.

“I trusted you,” She whispered, eyes darting to where the blonde now stood. She’d come down the stairs at a much slower rate than Derek, and was now watching the two with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. Stiles turned away.

“Trust?” Derek snorted, letting go of her wrist finally, “You never trusted me a day in your life, Stilinski.”

“I shouldn’t have. I really shouldn’t have.” She whispered. She heard the blonde laugh behind her, a sarcastic, evil sound, and it snapped something in Stiles. Why was she taking this? Why was she letting Derek stomp all over her, crushing everything inside her to pieces? Why wasn’t she fighting back?

“I shouldn’t have, but I did. And what did you do?” She hissed, turning around and advancing on Derek. Shocked, he took a step back. Then another. He kept stepping back until he was flush with the couch, a pissed of Stiles leaning towards him with a sneer on red-stained lips. Her lipstick must have looked like blood in the early morning light.

“What did you do? You went and fucked another girl. You went behind my back, instead of being like a man and breaking up with me. How would you have liked it if I fucked some random guy behind your back, huh? What would you have done?”

She was positively seething now, almost foaming at the mouth in her rage. Derek’s eyes had widened for a moment during her rant, but narrowed when she finished. He pushed her off of him, looming over her with a stormy look on his face. His entire being seemed to radiate anger. If he attacked her now, she wouldn’t stand a chance. But, for the life of her, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Did you think you were being the better man? Going behind my back to find a potential mate and keeping me in the dark?” She laughed a bit manically, “I’ve got a newsflash for you, honey. By doing that, you just alienated half your pack.”

“No, I haven’t,” He growled, eyes flashing from brown to red and back again. Muscles shifted under his skin, dancing dangerously under the strange morning light. She thought, looking up at him, that she could see a flash of his fangs, but it could have been her imagination.

“What, you think even Cora will love you after what you did? You really think--”

“You’re leaving town.”

Dead silence floated through the flat. Derek glared resolutely down at her, ignoring her wide eyes and frozen expression. His gaze forced her to back up, jerking towards the wall until her back clanged against it.

“What the hell do you mean?” She demanded.

“I mean,” He ground out, taking another menacing step towards her, knowing she couldn’t move anymore, “that you are going to leave town. And you won’t come back.”

“And why would I do that?” She asked sarcastically. Her voice betrayed her by wobbling, showing just how scared she was at this moment.

“Because,” He said, backing away, “I’m giving you the chance to get out of here before you ruin the pack.”

“Ruin the pack? By telling the truth?” She asked back incredulously. Just what was he trying to do? Guilt her into leaving?

“By splitting their allegiance,” Derek sighed, “Erica, Boyd, Jackson, Cora, Peter, and Isaac will side with me. Scott, Allison, Lydia, Danny, and Ethan will side with you. It would split them apart. So just leave, Stiles. Leave and don’t come back.”

She almost started yelling again, but then she thought about it. It was true, after all. Those he turned personally would side with him, because they couldn’t go against the man who gave them their “gifts”, neither could his own family. Peter may be her godfather, but Derek didn’t know that, and Peter had promised her he’d never tell. Scott was her brother, and he would never abandon her; neither would Allison, by extension. Team Human always stuck together, so Lydia and Danny were on her side, which would make Ethan’s decision for him; he went where Danny went. It would split the pack down the middle, cause tension and break bonds. It would tear Lydia and Jackson apart, again. Could she really do that to everyone? Could she really stand the guilt of destroying her pack?

“You’re right,” She said hoarsely, leaning her head back and resting it against the cold concrete, “You’re right. I’ll go. I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” Derek said, turning away from her, “If you aren’t out by tomorrow night, you’ll regret it.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Derek,” Stiles snapped, “I’ll be gone. I don’t want to damage the pups more than they already are.”

Derek said nothing more, disappearing back into his loft. The blonde smirked at Stiles, blowing a blood-red kiss her way, before sauntering up after him. Her wide hips swayed as she walked, something Stiles had never been able to do. In fact, the woman was the exact opposite of what Stiles was -- blonde, straight, perfect hair, bright blue eyes, perfect face, thin but curvy body. It was no wonder Derek picked her.

Stiles left the flat just as quietly as she came. No tears streamed down her cheeks, no heartbreak showed in her half-dead eyes, no fist was clenched in anger and betrayal -- not yet. For now, she had to be strong, stronger than she thought she could be. Fake it till you break it, as Lydia Martin would say.

She’d have leave town, but couldn’t tell anyone. That would cause questions, which would need truthful answers. Neither of them could have that. She’d just have to leave, hopefully in the next two hours. It might even be better for them. No more weak human Stiles to hold them back, no more rushing to the hospital because “Stiles tried to fight something on her own again”.

No more Stiles. It was probably better that way.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Derek felt his heart breaking in his chest as he heard the jeep pull away. Stiles had looked so lost when she’d left, so utterly shattered by everything he had said, that he’d almost taken back immediately. Almost took her into his arms, kissed away the single tear that had dripped from her eye. The only thing that made him refrain was the blonde in the room with him.

A clawed hand caressed his cheek, the sharp point scraping against stubble and digging in just slightly. Blood red lips pressed against his ear, tongue licking up it. Derek jumped, shying away from the contact. The woman laughed, sneaking up and pressing her lips against his. He shoved her away roughly, backing away as far as he dared. She chuckled, sadistic smile spreading on her lips

“You did well, Derek,” The woman hummed, slithering up to him to stare at his face. Her eyes bled black as she smiled, gruesome teeth showing through stained lips. Blonde hair drained to white and pale skin lost all color whatsoever. Any trace of humanity had long since left the face of this vile creature.

“I did what you asked,” He growled, pushing the spawn of Hell away from him. She laughed again, pressing herself against his chest like a leech.

“Oh, come on, Der,” She giggled, alternating between hissing at him and trying to press little kisses on him, “We had such fun together. Why don’t we do it again?”

“Go tell your boss it’s done.” He replied, turning away from the demon. He heard her huff from behind him, but didn’t turn around. The guilt was suffocating him, making it hard to speak, to think, to _breathe_. All he could see in his mind was the face Stiles had made when he called her weak. No one should ever have that look on their face, let alone the strongest woman he ever met. She’d faced werewolves, kanimas, hunters, Alpha packs, Darachs, and countless other little things for him, for them, and she turned around and did it all again. She kept emotional werewolves under control with just her touch and a few small words. She figured out what happened, what the creature was, how to kill it, and planned. Then, when her plan would inevitably fail, she’d think of a better plan on the spot. Stiles was the toughest person he knew, and he’d hit her weak spot by saying she was pathetic.

It wasn’t likely that she’d ever forgive him. Right now, he didn’t want her to. He’d rather live the rest of his life with her safe and far away then have her death weigh on his mind for years to come.

“Just remember, baby,” The demon hissed with her forked tongue, “One false move and we kill the Sheriff first. We rip the skin off his face and send it to the bitch as a present. Then,” She added, almost as an afterthought, “We’ll kill the cute one with the curly hair. Ever since I first saw him, I wondered what his flesh tasted like.”

Derek turned around to lunge at her, but she’d already gone, cackling as she jumped through the open window. Derek sighed, running a hand through his hair and sitting down on his bed. He’d go to Cora’s tomorrow morning, he decided. That would be where Stiles would go before leaving. All he needed to know was that she’d made it safely out of the city. Then, he’d try to move on without her.

In the back of his mind, he knew he never would move on. In the back of his mind, he hoped _she_ wouldn’t either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so that was a shitty chapter, I know. I just needed to show you exactly what happened between Stiles and Derek.  
> You know how Deucalion was all like "I AM THE DEMON WOLF"? Well these things literally are demon wolves. It's very unoriginal, but I've spent the better part of three days trying to find something else that this could be and for the life of me, couldn't find anything. So yeah, demon wolves.


	8. Thank You For Reminding Me (To Sin With A Grin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *EDITED* And it's much more awesome now.  
> Two chapters in one day. You guys are lucky I really love you. Actually, you're really lucky Jeff Davis is an asshole. But you're also lucky I love you.  
> God it is almost ten o'clock, and I still have to do my questions for AP Lang. I'm gonna skip all the bullshit notes and just let you get to the chapter. Enjoy!

Silence reigned over the house as the occupants of the Stilinski house heard the jeep peel away from the driveway. Jackson and Erica both looked ready to run after Stiles, but stayed where they were, glaring at Derek with a hidden burning hatred. Scott, Boyd, and Cora didn’t even bother hiding their rage, claws emerging as their anger grew. The Sheriff was staring at Derek like he’d just killed his daughter, Melissa and Peter looking much the same. Isaac was perhaps the worst. He was looking at Derek with an empty, disappointed expression. There was a glimmer of anger, a glimpse of betrayal, but it was mostly just blank disappointment.

Derek started to turn away, try to walk away from this pack that he’d hurt so badly, but Cora stomped up to him and shoved him, forcing his head down so that he was looking her in the eye.

“You complete and utter bastard,” She seethed, eyes shifting from yellow to dark rapidly in her growing anger, “You fucking asshole. Is that what you did, huh? You fucked some little bitch, decided Stiles wasn’t good enough for you? Decided some other bitch could please you better? The Hale Alpha needed a better mate than the woman who loved him enough to risk not only her life, but the life of her father, her friends, and everything she loved, not once but multiple times?”

Cora punched him, swinging her fist into his stomach. Derek barely flinched, took the punishment, but his eyes flashed red. The short flash caused Isaac and Scott to stutter forward, though they were unsure of whether to join Cora or pull her back. The tension was almost suffocating, but it was enough of a distraction to allow the Sheriff to sneak away, stealthily heading towards his office. Specifically, he was heading towards a locked safe behind a picture in his office.

“You’re so fucking stupid, big brother. She loved you more than anything—”

“She’s human,” Derek said gruffly, pushing his sister away and into Isaacs arms, “She isn’t strong enough to be an Alpha’s mate.”

A stunned hush fell over the group. Could he really mean that? Did he really think that Stiles wasn’t the toughest of them all?

“Do you really think that?” Ethan asked, voice hard and emotionless. His claws dug into the flesh of his hands, drawing blood to his palms. All he could remember was the time Stiles had held him like a child, helping him through the memories of Aiden bleeding out in his arms. Stiles, human but so incredibly strong, holding a werewolf despite claws digging into her waist and howling in her delicate ears. Stiles, who saved Cora’s life and weakened Deucalion enough for Derek to kill him. Stiles, who had been raising a werewolf pup while running from a pack that was trying its hardest to kill her. How could she be weak? She was the strongest one of them all.

“She’s human,” Derek mumbled like it was an explanation. Cora looked like she wanted to throw herself at him again, maybe use her claws to rip into his face. Isaac kept a tight hold on her, going as far as to wrap his arms around her waist in a restraining hug. Everyone was too preoccupied with their anger to notice the sad look that flitted past Derek’s face.

“Oh, and no one else is?” Jackson demanded. The look on his face could only be described as a mix between anger and pain.

“Where’s mama?” Everyone froze, turning as one to the little girl standing in the hallway. Rose was looking around, watching the proceedings with wide, tear filled eyes. No one had even noticed she’d walked in.

Peter jumped forward, holding his arms out to grab her. “Come here, Rosie,” He said, kneeling a few feet from her. As soon as his right knee hit the ground, a gunshot rang out into the quietness of the home. Rose startled, shouting out and sprinting forward, jumping into her great-uncles arms. She slapped both hands around her ears, tears spilling down her cheeks. Peter backed away quickly, doing his best to shield her while looking around and trying to find the source of the gunshot.

The Sheriff stood at the far end of the room, chest heaving and hands shaking on the handgun he’d gotten from the safe in his office. The gun was still raised, but was slowly being lowered, when he looked, so Peter followed the gun to its target. He stared, half stunned, half appreciative of the red stain on Derek’s right shirt sleeve and the impressive hole in the wall behind him. The wolf let out a delayed bark of pain, staring down at his arm in shock.

“Oh, shut up. You’ll heal,” John fumed, “Unlike my daughter.”

No one saw Danny look at his phone as it alerted him, and only Ethan noticed him get up to leave. Danny looked over to him, smiling and nodding once at the door, signifying that he was going to leave. Ethan nodded back, resuming his glaring at Derek.

“She seems just fine to me,” Derek retorted, holding his arm up to the light. Since the bullet had gone straight through, and hadn’t been a wolfsbane bullet, the wound was already starting to close.

“Do you want me to shoot you again?” John thundered, stepping further into the room and raising the handgun again. Peter hurried forward and pushed it down, pointedly nodding towards Rose. The little girl was curled up in his arms with her hands over her head. Tears ran down her cheeks from closed, scrunched up eyes and her mouth was turned down in a scared frown. John’s eyes widened in understanding and he hurriedly flicked the safety on, pushing the gun into the waistband of his jeans. Peter nodded his thanks, walking away from John when he was sure he wouldn’t shoot again.

“Sorry, Rosie,” Peter whispered, surprising everyone but Cora, “It’s alright, darling. Your grandpa was just angry.”

Rose nodded into his neck, whimpers slowly easing. The whole pack watched, shocked, as Peter kissed the little girl on the head and sat down at the vacated couch, rocking her slightly in his arms. Only Cora smiled softly, going over to sit next to her uncle. Cora may be Rose’s favorite aunt, but Peter was just her favorite. With Stiles gone, Peter was the next best person to comfort her.

As the little girl slowly calmed down, the others turned to Derek. He almost looked fearful of them, still holding a hand over the slowly healing bullet wound in his arm. Erica was the first to march up to him, staring up at Derek like he was a spider she could crush under her six-inch heels. He met her gaze steadily, half listening to whatever she was saying to him and half listening to Rose’s heartbeat. His mind kept flashing back to Stiles’s face and what she said, because he just couldn’t believe it. Derek doubted anyone really remembered what she even said, but it was all he could think about.

“You’re the one who got me pregnant, then forced me out of the only home I’ve ever known.” He’d been so shocked by the words that he’d gone with the shove, falling back into the recliner. It wasn’t so much that he’d forced her out of Beacon Hills, though he was still incredibly guilty about that, and probably would be for the rest of his life. What had really shocked him was the first part. “You’re the one who got me pregnant”. The words wouldn’t leave his mind. Pregnant. Rosamund was his daughter. Rose was his little girl. Why hadn’t Stiles told him?

Because he’d kicked her out. Because he forced her to leave her family and her friends behind, to begin a life of running and fear and pain and death. Because he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to know this little girl, this Rose, this perfect little creature who’d unknowingly stolen his heart when he’d first saw her. He didn’t deserve to even look at her, let alone be allowed to protect her.

“Are you even listening to me?” Erica’s annoyed tone brought him out of his reverie, forcing him to snap his head back to where she was. Derek let out a growl, stepping forward so that the tall blonde was forced back. He held the gazes of each member of his pack, taking in the anger and betrayal of each of them. How Stiles hadn’t known they would all side with her if she’d told them, he’d never know. All that mattered now was that she was back, and she needed to leave. He wouldn’t be able to protect them all if she stayed.

“Where’s my mama?” Rose asked again, pulling everyone’s attention back to her. Peter was gently wiping away the tears from her cheeks, using the cuff of his long-sleeved V-neck to clear them away. The girl’s eyes were red from crying, one hand curled in the hem of Peter’s shirt and the other holding Remmy by the paw. She was looking at each pack member, straining her neck and looking for her mom.

“Your mama’s gone away for a bit,” Erica replied sweetly, almost motherly. Her glare at Derek a second later was much less sweet.

Rose had been watching her, so she saw Erica’s glare at Derek. The girls look shifted from Erica to Derek, like she was trying to figure something out. She then looked to the other wolves, seeing them glare at the Alpha much the same. Honey eyes narrowed.

“He hurt Mama?” Rose asked while pointing at Derek, startling the group, “He make Mama sad?”

The others looked apprehensive, not knowing what to say, but Cora simply smirked and said, “Yes, little flower. Derek made your mama very, very sad.

Derek saw the little girl frown, putting a finger to her chin and looking up like she was thinking. Everyone in the room stopped to watch her. Seemingly making up her mind, she jumped off of Peter’s lap, walking up to Derek.

Standing in front of the Alpha, Rose’s eyes flashed yellow and little claws extended seconds before she gripped Derek’s leg. Sharp pinpricks in his leg made Derek jump, but the pain stayed where it was. Rose had her claws hooked into his thigh.

The girl grunted angrily, glaring up at him and showing her fangs. “No one hurts my mama,” She growled.

 Derek shook his leg a bit, but her claws were firmly dug in. There was no way to get her off without hurting her. He couldn’t order her since he wasn’t pack, and he couldn’t ask her to since she was a petulant three year old who wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want to do. For now, he just had to deal with a werewolf pup who wanted to keep her claws warm in his leg.

It was only a short time later that Rose got bored of staying in the same place for any period of time. She retracted her claws, stepping away just enough to kick Derek in the shins, before turning around and walking back to Peter. The older wolf had a look of almost _pride_ on his face, which unnerved almost everyone in the room. The little girl stopped in front of him, holding up her arms in a demand for him to pick her up. He did as he was told, standing up and swinging her to his hip.

“Do you want to go find your mom, Rosie?” Peter asked, handing her Remmy. The little girl clutched her wolf, nodding and trying to put her thumb in her mouth. Peter pulled her hand away at the last second, earning a grumpy glare from the toddler. He stuck his tongue out at her, walking towards the door. The pack parted to let them through.

“I’ll bring Stiles back,” Peter said as he left, “but Derek, you might want to leave before we get here. You do not want an angry mother on your tail, trust me.”

Silence reigned of a few short seconds. They waited until Peter get into his car, buckled Rose in to the seat next to him, and pulled away before the shouting at Derek continued. Melissa forced the Sheriff to put away his handgun, but had joined in the shouting the second the gun was safely locked in its safe. It was total and utter chaos.

Cora and Isaac were the only two who were relatively silent. They’d backed up to the far corner, snickering as Derek was bombarded with curses and demands. Isaac, though, was thinking back to how Rose had immediately gone to Peter when she was scared. He knew Stiles had said that Peter and Cora had known Rose since she was born, but why would Rose run to Peter for safety? Why not Cora? And why had Stiles told Peter about Rose in the first place?

The room suddenly went quiet, everyone turning to Isaac with wide eyes and still faces. He hadn’t realized he’d been asking questions aloud until that moment. He looked sheepishly at them all, but was surprised when Ethan spoke.

“She didn’t tell you guys?” He asked, looking around at them all. They turned from Isaac to him, and he kept going, “She told me one day when I was panicking. Peter is her godfather.”

“No he’s not,” The Sheriff said immediately, but Cora was nodding her head.

“Your wife never told you, Sheriff,” She said apologetically, “But she named Peter as Stiles’s godfather. She thought he could protect her daughter better than anyone else, other than you, of course.”

“How do you know, then?” Jackson asked her.

Cora smiled, “Because I’m the one who helped her get out of town, and I was lucky enough to be called one of her best friends.

“And,” She added, “I guess you already know this now, I’m Rose’s real aunt.”

“One last question,” Isaac said after a short, shocked silence (since everyone had forgotten that little piece of information), “How does Peter know where she’ll go? She could be out of Beacon Hills by now.”

Cora shrugged. She didn’t really know.

“Peter always seems to just know,” She replied, “That’s why he knew where to find her after Gerard.”

The group shuddered at the reminder. It had been a tense few hours, when Stiles had gone missing from the lacrosse game she helped win. Scott had almost gone out of his mind trying to find his best friend, and Derek had been about two minutes away from telling the Sheriff everything, when they’d gotten a call from Stiles. She’d told them she was in the cemetery, but couldn’t say more than that because she’d been in the middle of a panic attack. They’d barely stopped the car at the cemetery before Peter was jumping out and running towards a grouping of trees. He’d found Stiles immediately, without smelling her out, since Gerard had put some sort of serum in her to stop her scent. Now that they thought back to it, it had been a bit weird.

Using that thought as a distraction, Derek crept out of the house and out into the woods. He needed some time to let them cool off and to formulate a plan. He couldn’t just kick Stiles out again, but he needed to protect his pack from Carmun. There was only so much he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been edited, so it's so much better oh my god I didn't realize how much that was bothering me. Next chapter will probably be up before you read this anyway.  
> I actually have a question now. Do you guys want me start doing short little side stories explaining what happened before the events of this story? I'll have some free time during my physics class (because it's either do something else or fall asleep to his boring voice) and hopefully I can write a bit during lunch and seminar. Maybe during jewelry if I finish quickly. Probably a bit during math since I've already done what he's teaching the class now. I'm rambling again but really. I just want to know if you guys would like me to do a bit of back story on the side, in a different story or something.  
> There isn't much else to say. Sorry these chapters sucked. As always, your comments, kudos, and bookmarks are appreciated. Good night/morning, ya'll, and have a nice weekend.


	9. Words Are Knives (That Often Leave Scars)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH I'M BACK. School was hell these past two days, so I apologize for how late this is. I'll be trying to work on it during school hours; maybe during physics and debate. I won't have much time after school, since my AP Lang teacher has already given us homework. /Sigh, I hate school.  
> But anyway, this chapter kind of goes back in time a bit. Not really, but it's a continuation of something that I added into last chapter. You'll be confused if you don't go back and reread chapter 8. That was what most of today was spent on, anyway. Editing is a lot worse than writing it for the first time.  
> Also, I'd just like you all to know that I have renamed all of my contacts in my phone to Teen Wolf characters. This is my life, these are my choices.  
> There really isn't much left to say here. Season finale of Teen Wolf is in like a day, so I'll inevitably be crying my eyes out for seven days straight. There won't be a school break until late September, if memory serves. When that rolls around, I'll either still be writing this fic or a continuation of it, so I'll try to pump out three or four chapters then.  
> That's for later, though. For now, on with the story!

Lydia and Allison stared out at the retreating jeep, both sets of eyes wide in horror and anger. Stiles had sped out of the driveway so fast they weren’t sure she wouldn’t get picked up by highway patrol or the local police. Right now, neither girl could blame her. Derek, cheating on _Stiles_? It was so unheard of that they hadn’t even _thought_ it to be a reason for her disappearance. No one had even suggested it. They way Derek looked at her, like she was the sun to his earth, like everything revolved around a lanky 5’3” girl with tawny, curly hair and moles against her pale, porcelain skin. They’d seen him smile more when he was with Stiles than they’d ever seen him smile. Even Cora admitted that her brother was a lot more tolerable when Stiles was around. So why the hell would Derek cheat on the girl he’d secretly been finding a wedding ring for?

Shouting from inside the house brought them back to the present. They could hear Cora cursing up a storm, probably using enough language to make Melissa flush. Both women looked at each other, silently conversing in a way they had learned long ago, when they first started hanging out with a pack of werewolves with super hearing. Allison raised an eyebrow, nodding towards her car in a way that suggested they leave. Lydia shook her head, tilting her head towards the Stilinski house and holding up one finger. Danny. The last member of Team Human (+ One Banshee, as Stiles loved to say) would be needed. They had to figure out why Derek would suddenly change his mind about marrying the woman he loved more than the damned old house he wouldn’t tear down.

Allison and Lydia nodded at each other, Allison going to the car and starting it up while Lydia sent a text to Danny. Knowing Scott wouldn’t have his phone on him (he’d left it at the Hale house, on the table to the left of the bed he and Allison shared), Allison texted Isaac to tell him they were leaving. She didn’t say where, but the werewolves knew well enough by now that if Team Human wanted to go somewhere, they would go there with or without permission from the pack. They just learned to deal with it.

Barely a minute later, after a terrifying gunshot that, after a peak through the window to the living room, seemed to have come from the Sheriff shooting Derek, Danny crept out of the house. He didn’t really have to, since there was still commotion between the rest of the pack members in the house, but Danny only ever did what he wanted. If he wanted to creep out of a preoccupied house, then he’d do just that. He nodded at them, walking to the car and getting in front. Allison looked at Lydia, who shrugged and mouthed ‘It’s his turn to pick’, then glided to the car and sat in the passenger seat. Allison followed shortly, climbing gracefully into the back, closing the door seconds before the car was pulling away from the curb they had parked on.

The three drove in silence for as long as they could manage (which was about ten minutes; without Stiles, it was much easier to stay silent) before Allison  poked her head up into the front and asked, “So, am I the only one who doesn’t understand?”

Both Danny and Lydia shook their heads, Danny with a puzzled but angry look, Lydia looking like she was contemplating on how much wolfsbane she’d have to give Derek to knock him out long enough to castrate him. Ever since she’d researched medieval ways of torture, she’s been obsessed with castrating as punishment for the highest offence. Not that anyone could blame her for thinking Derek deserved it.

“It doesn’t make any sense whatsoever,” Danny replied as he turned into the parking lot of the new coffee shop in town. He threw the car in park and climbed out, waiting outside the car for the two girls. Together, they made their way into the shop, Lydia going straight for the counter and ordering them their usual. She had them memorized already, though they’d only been here twice.

Allison and Danny walked over to their normal spot; somewhere close to the door, but far enough away that they could have a conversation without getting weird looks when they mentioned the supernatural flavor of the week. Lydia walked over a minute later, holding three cups and a bag of what smelled like cinnamon scones. She handed out the drinks and scones and sat down.

The three ate and drank in silence for all of five seconds before Lydia slammed her coffee down and asked, “So, can I castrate him?”

“Lyds, really? Castration _again?”_ Danny complained after he’d finished choking on his drink.

She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him, “What? It’s a perfectly painful punishment for adultery.”

“Three points for alliteration,” Allison said, “But we really need to figure this out.”

Lydia sat up straighter, a look of inquisitiveness flitting across her face, “Exactly. Why would Derek Hale, ex-resident Stiles Stilinski stalker and former soon-to-be-fiancé, cheat on the woman he was going to propose to?”

“Wait, Derek was going to _propose?”_ Danny asked, picking up one of the scones sitting in the middle of the table. Allison nodded while chewing on her own scone.

“We went with him to help find a ring,” She answered, smiling a bit at the memory.

It hadn’t been a traditional wedding ring. Stiles hated traditional. Her mom had had a dark blue, circle cut sapphire in the middle of a simple, black gold band. Stiles’s had been a light, oval cut peridot with two sapphires on either side, white gold creating a triquetra around each sapphire. Lydia had seen Stiles draw the triquetra on every surface she could, going as far as to tattoo it (without her father’s knowledge) on her hip, hidden by her waistband. Eventually, Stiles had told Lydia that her mom had worn a necklace with the triquetra on it, and had told a young Stiles that it could mean many things, but that to her, it was a symbol of power, intellect, and love.

Derek had looked ecstatic when Lydia told him about the significance of the triquetra. Being able to give her something that her mother had had was something Derek had wanted to do. Since her mother couldn’t be here now, having something that reminded Stiles of her mom would be comforting. It was almost like he was asking her mom’s permission for her daughter’s hand.

He’d spent almost fifteen hundred on his ring for her. Wanting it to mean something more, he hadn’t used his inheritance to buy the ring; he’d worked overtime for months to buy the ring for her. When he finally bought it, the look on his face was something of pure joy. Why would he ever want to cheat on the woman he looked at like she hung the stars just for him?

The three ate and drank quietly, all mulling over what they knew. Derek didn’t just love Stiles, he was _in_ love with Stiles. Without due cause, he wouldn’t even look at another woman in a sexual way. Even after she’d left, Derek hadn’t been on a date, or even looked at another woman the way he’d looked at her. There was no way he’d intentionally or full-heartedly cheated on the woman he loved more than anything.

Lydia suddenly dropped her drink, looking up excitedly at the others. “I got it,” She exclaimed, “Someone had to have been threatening Stiles.”

The other two nodded, but still looked apprehensive. It was a good theory, but there were just too many holes to really be the reason.

“Why wouldn’t he just tell us, then?” Danny asked.

“Yeah, I mean, we’ve faced off evil druids, a pack of Alphas, and so many other things that probably should have killed us. We can protect Stiles.” Allison added.

Lydia stopped for barely a second before she answered. “Whoever it is that is threatening Stiles must be extremely powerful, and they must be threatening all of us.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, silently assenting to finding evidence to support this theory. It wouldn’t do well to just tell everyone that what they thought could be a reason was the actual reason. The last time that had happened, Stiles and Danny had ended up in the hospital for two weeks, courtesy of a pissed off Wendigo and incompetent werewolves. Stiles had gone in to save their asses after a half assed plan of “run in and kill”, and Danny had gone after her to help with lighting it on fire. Stiles had gotten three broken ribs, one punctured lung, and a damaged trachea. Danny hadn’t been much better off. They had killed it in the end, though.

“Derek still loves Stiles,” Lydia added, “We just have to find out why he had to be a bastard and force her away.”

Allison looked away uncomfortably. It didn’t seem right to her, that Lydia had almost immediately forgiven him with what she figured. Danny noticed her shifting and put a hand over hers.

“She’s not condoning it, Ally,” Danny consoled, “She’s just saying that we need to figure this all out.”

“I’m still going to castrate him,” Lydia smirked.

This time, it was Danny’s turn to shift uncomfortably. Allison mealy rolled her eyes.

“We can’t castrate our Alpha, Lyds.”

“I know, Ally. A woman can dream.”

“Wait,” Danny said, interrupting what would evolve into a tirade, “Do you think that whoever might or might not be threatening the pack is the same group that is after Stiles and her daughter?”

Two jaws dropped consecutively, but the only one word came out of all three mouths.

_**“Shit.”** _

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Stiles had just finished telling her mom everything that had happened when she heard the rumble of a car coming down the dirt path on the way to the Nemeton. There was only one person who would think to look for her here, in the place where her dad and surrogate mother had almost died. She smiled as she stood, watching a black car slowly drive up. As soon as the car was parked, a blur of dark brown curls jumped into her arms, clinging to her with a cry of “Mama!”

Curling her arms around her daughter, Stiles buried her face in her daughter’s soft hair. She hadn’t even thought about Rose when she’d left, running out of the house like the devil was on her tail. Rose must have been terrified.

Peter climbed out of the car a split second after Rose, closing and locking the door before walking up to Stiles and pressing a hand to her back, absorbing the pain she’d been hiding from her mother for the past hour and a half that she’d been here. Agatha looked startled at the black veins, then annoyed at her daughter.

“Why did you not tell me you were hurt, Η κόρη μου?” The dryad asked, pressing her own wooden hand to Stiles’s back and drawing away some of the infection. It was something Agatha could do that most dryads couldn’t.

“It wasn’t important, Mom,” Stiles replied, voice muffled by Rose’s head. Agatha and Peter smiled softly at her, though she couldn’t see it.

“Stiles?” Peter prompted after a short silence. The woman looked up at him, red rimmed eyes looking much more tired than usual. Peter smiled at her, getting an attempt at a smile back. “Would you introduce your daughter to Claudia?”

Agatha rolled her moss-colored eyes at her old friends’ insistence for using her human name, but turned to Stiles and raised an eyebrow at the brown head currently buried in her shoulder. Stiles gave her a small, shy smile.

“Mom, this is my daughter, Rosamund Talia Stilinski. Rosie,” She prompted, getting her daughter to look at her, “Can you say hi to your grandma?”

Rose shifted her head to look at her grandmother, smiling brightly but timidly. “Hi, gamma,” Rose mumbled, then hid her face back in her mother’s shoulder. The three adults laughed at the three year olds shyness.

“So, this is my εγγονή, the little Ρόουζ?” Agatha asked, looking at the little girl. Stiles smiled and nodded.

“Well, Ρόουζ,” Agatha said softly, “Would you like to come with me? I would like to pick some λουλούδια, some flowers, but I cannot carry them alone.”

Rose’s head popped up as Agatha said flowers. She looked to her mom for permission, and when she had it, Rose nodded, letting herself be transferred to her grandmother’s wooden arms. The two walked away slowly, Agatha trying to bring Rose out of her shell and Rose too excited by the thought of getting flowers to care about her shyness. Peter stayed by Stiles’s side, keeping one hand on her back even after he stopped taking her pain. If he noticed Stiles leaning into the comfort his hand brought, he didn’t mention it.

“You know we’ll have to talk about this sometime, Geneviève,” Peter said quietly, watching his goddaughter and his best friend pick the flowers that had grown by the surrounding trees. Stiles sighed inaudibly.

“Not now, Peter, _please,”_ She begged, “Let me have this bit of happiness here.”

Peter rubbed her back soothingly, sitting down next to her on the Nemeton but not saying anything else. They had time before they’d have to go back, and they could talk even later if needs arise. All that mattered right now was that his goddaughter was safe and if not okay, at least she was functioning.

“I hope you know that Derek will be sleeping in a literal dog house for the next three years,” Peter said seriously, eyebrows pushing together in a symbol of seriousness. A clear, happy laugh erupted from Stiles, causing everyone to laugh with her.

It would be the last time she would laugh in awhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, yes, I had way too much fun with both describing the engagement ring and having Lydia suggest castration. It just seems like something she would do.  
> Also, yes, I love ripping your hearts out of your chests. Just wait till I write the chapter where Derek tells Stiles what really went on. She's gonna be pissed and say some very hurtful things.  
> My love for Uncle Peter has grown to intolerable levels. The amount of fluff between him, Stiles, and Rose is ridiculous. I can't stop. I'm sorry, friends.  
> Okay, on a serious note, I have to ask another question. For those who didn't read the updated notes in last chapter, I'm thinking about destroying my sanity with writing more than I already do. Maybe doing a side story about the background of what happened before the events of this fic? I'd still be doing this one as regularly as possible, but I'd also be putting out little one-shots, like about what happened after Gerard and the whole crazy story with the Wendigo. Would you like it if I did that?  
> Also, ominous ending. It's gonna be evil, sad shit from now on. With the occasional Great-Uncle Peter and baby Rosie. Because everyone needs a bit of Great-Uncle Peter and little baby Rosie in their lives.  
> As always, your comments are much loved and appreciated. I try my best to reply to them and answer any and all questions and oh my god I forgot about Markus. Sorry I just remembered that Markus is going to be included at some point. Probably in the next two chapters or so. This is what happens when I'm under a lot of stress.  
> But really, thank you for your kudos, bookmarks, and comments. Each and every one fills my heart with joy. Yes that was fucking cheesy, deal with it.  
> Last thing, anyone who can guess what song the title of this chapter is from, I will give you an internet hug. Seriously I just want one person to get it.  
> Well, that's it for me. Good night, good morning, and I'll see you all next chapter.


	10. It's the Moment of Truth (And the Moment to Lie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT GUYS I'M BACK. Well, kinda. I know, I know, its been like three months. Truth is, I've been really busy. My AP English teacher has given us three essays each month, I've already had four tests in AP US History, my physics teacher is shit so I have to basically learn everything myself... it's just not been a good school year. Whoever said your sophomore year of high school was the hardest clearly never went through their junior year.  
> Anyway, enough about myself. I've finally found some time to write. With Debate pretty much over, I have nothing to do in that class except for write. And homework is slowing down (though I still have some to do tonight; I have an in-class essay that I'm writing for AP English tomorrow and I need to think up a thesis statement and an outline), so I'll hopefully have more time to write this.  
> I'm so very sorry for leaving this alone for so long, but I will try my hardest to keep this going. I've got a whole bunch of brand new ideas for continuing this, and it'll probably be a long time before I'm truly finished.  
> EDIT: IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY BLOOD AND GORE, THERE IS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF THAT IN THIS CHAPTER. YOU ARE HEREBY WARNED.
> 
> I think that's enough notes for now, friends. Here's the chapter.

A man shuffled through long hallways, resolutely ignoring the blood dripping from the ceiling and the screaming coming from the cells on either side. He kept his head down, hoping to be ignored somewhat by the torturers surrounding him and the reaching hands grasping desperately at anyone seemingly human. Blood slicked fingers clutched at his threadbare clothes, leaving chunks of skin and hair that would dry on his clothes. The man kept on, wanting to plug his ears so that he could drown out the squelch of his bare feet walking over rotten flesh.

She would never allow him to plug his ears, though. She loved to watch him squirm.

Finally, the man reached the end of the gruesome hallway, walking underneath the arch embedded with teeth and only flinching slightly as entrails landed on his shoulder. He kept walking, pressing on faster and faster until he was almost sprinting. He skidded to a halt in front of her throne, throwing himself on the floor and pressing his face into the blood covered stone.

“What is it, Scipio?” A bored voice asked, voice like fingernails scraping against porous stone.

“M-my lady,” Scipio said, only raising his face enough so that she would hear him, “I b-b-bring news f-from Carmun.”

A long suffering sigh sounded in the burning, heavy air, and Scipio winced. He waited for a blow, for a knife in his skull, for anything that his lady would do to him, but nothing happened. Daring to spare a glance at her, Scipio only saw a slight frown on his lady’s face, fiery auburn hair creating a dark, bloody halo around her soot stained face. He lowered his eyes again as her black gaze turned to him.

“Speak, cretin,” His lady snapped, “What news do you bring from my subordinate?”

Scipio felt, rather than heard, the sharp crack of a whip somewhere to his right, and stuttered out, “The daughter o-o-o-of Agatha has r-r-returned to h-h-her home.”

He did not look up at his lady, but almost heard her expression grow dark. The screams around them intensified at the sudden shift in the lady’s mood. Scipio fought to keep from covering his ears.

“So, my daughter has failed,” His lady growled, standing up from her throne. She gripped Scipio’s arm with clawed hands and forced him to his feet. His head stayed down, a show of submission.

“Scipio,” She chirped almost happily, digging her claws into his chin and dragging his head up. He was forced to look into black, soulless eyes, blood dripping from the sable orifices. His lady smiled, showing sharp, red stained teeth and shredded lips. “Scipio, be a dear and tell my daughter that she must rectify this failure. I will not allow the granddaughter of my greatest enemy to remain anywhere near my shrine.

“If she fails,” His lady continued, voice turning sinister and eyes somehow darkening, “She will not favor the consequences.”

Scipio was already nodding, paying no attention to the scratches caused by his lady’s claws. His lady laughed, a dark, twisted sound. She released his chin after a minute, cracking the whip in her other hand to spur him on.

He ran out of the room as fast as he could, her laughter following him with each step. It wasn’t until Scipio was at the entrance to his lady’s home that he stopped to catch his breath. The guards on either side paid no heed to him as he caught his breath.

“I s-s-seek leave, m-m-m-masters,” Scipio stuttered, head bowed low in resignation. The guards laughed.

“You s-s-s-seek, Scipio?” One asked, pressing the tip of his sword at the slave’s throat. Scipio didn’t move.

“Y-yes, masters,” Scipio stammered, “Lady Apollyon has g-g-g-given me a t-t-task.”

“My lady, giving a slave a task?” The other guard asked, deep voice rising slightly in bewilderment, “I am surprised she trusts such a dull creature with a task.”

“I am s-s-sorry, m-masters,” Scipio replied, “I m-must leave, m-m-m-masters.”

The first guard sighed, taking his sword away from Scipio’s throat. “Leave, then.” The guard rumbled, pushing Scipio towards the portal at the end of the hallway. The slave tripped, walking as fast as considered appropriate, and slipped into the portal.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Oh, De- _rek_!” A singsong voice exclaimed. The Alpha wolf winced, claws growing sharp at the sound of her voice.

“ _De_ rek!” Carmun crooned, latching herself to his back, “Didja miss me, pretty wolf?”

 _Not in the least_ , he thought, but he couldn’t say it aloud. The continued truce between Carmun and himself relied on him being somewhat diplomatic, and insulting the other side would end very, _very_ badly.

“What do you want, Carmun?” He asked instead, stifling a wince as her claws dug into his shoulders.

The demon wolf laughed, twirling around him so that he was left staring down at her. “You know exactly what I want, Derek Hale,” She said, voice dipping low and eyes bleeding black, “You failed your task. The young Stilinski child is back in town.”

“I didn’t bring her here,” He replied defensively, shoulders going tense, “She arrived on her own.”

Carmun’s face went blank. She stared into his eyes, tilting her head just enough that it wasn’t submission. Derek fidgeted at the gaze, not wanting to give in, but knowing what would happen if he didn’t. Carmun wasn’t afraid to follow through on her threats. And right now, Derek was the only thing standing in her way of slaughtering his entire pack.

The thought made him drop his head, which the demon wolf took as a sign of capitulation. The shorter being patted him on the head, sighing happily. “You know what you have to do, whelp.” She whispered, letting one clawed finger run down the scar on his cheek. Derek shivered at the reminder of what she’d done to him.

She placed one finger under his chin, bringing his head up just enough so that he was left staring at her. Carmun smiled, showing sharp, bloodstained teeth. She looked nothing like what she had when they’d first “compromised”. White hair was shorn to a buzz cut, scars littering the top of her almost-bald head. Her pitch-black skin was lightened to a dark grey and smudged with soot. Underneath black, dead eyes, she had dark bags. If it was at all possible, the demon wolf looked _tired_. And **_scared_**.

Derek filed that thought away. It might be useful later on, to extort what little weakness she showed.

“She must be gone by the end of the month,” Carmun purred, “or I’ll kill your precious little pack. Be happy I’m giving you this much time.”

He nodded obediently, biting his tongue and swallowing his retort. Any word against her, any disobedience, and she’d take away that month he would have. A month to think of a plan. How to get rid of Carmun and her demon wolves.

“Good boy,” She whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Derek couldn’t quite keep back the wince that came when her boiling lips came into contact with his skin, but she only laughed.

“A month, pup,” Carmun hissed, “Just one month. If she’s not gone by the end of that time, it’ll be the Sherriff’s life first.”

With that, the demon wolf disappeared in a whirl of smoke and brimstone. Derek finally let his shoulders slump, dropping down to the ground. The past four years had been Hell, but at least they’d been quiet. Now that Stiles had come running back to the town, her toddler daughter in tow, the clusterfuck that had started four years ago had started again.

There was only one saving grace that Derek could see. Carmun didn’t know about Rosamund.  Either she hadn’t sensed the young werewolf, or didn’t know who she was. It was a blessing, one he would not abuse.

After almost half an hour of sitting and thinking, Derek finally got up. He would not be welcome at the Stilinski household, that much he knew. But, if he was going to find a way to save Stiles, his pack, and Rosamund ( _his_ **daughter** _, he kept thinking, though he didn’t believe he could truly be worthy of the title_ father), he would need help.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A being watched from the woods as the Alpha of the Hale pack rose from his defeated position, and sighed. It knew, without a doubt, that a new battle would be coming to Beacon Hills. This one, they would not be able to avoid.

“Father?” The voice of the being’s daughter brought him out of his reverie. He turned to the young woman, glowing green eyes burning with curiosity. Behind the woman were the being’s five other children, all peeking out from behind the eldest, heads cocked in interest.

“Will it be a war, Father?” One of the youngers asked cautiously.

The being turned back to where the young Alpha had been. His mind buzzed, trying to make sense of the word war. Their people had not been to war in a millennia. War was not in their nature.

Yet, this was their home. This had been their home for longer than his entire lifespan. Would they leave their home to die, the plants to wilt, the water to dry up? Would they leave their land to these evil beasts?

The being slumped, coming to his conclusion quickly. “Elen,” He mumbled, “Gather the others. We must gain their opinions before we decide what we will do.”

Though he could not see her, his first-born had nodded, shooing away the youngers while sprinting to gather the eldest of their race.

This would not be just a battle, the being knew.

This was going to be a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's not as long as they usually are. But this is just kind of a filler chapter. And, we finally revealed the villain! For those of you who don't know, Apollyon is the Greek name for Abaddon. So yeah, demons. I get no points for originality.  
> And yes, I did add another group of people. Not sure if you can tell who they are yet, but it'll be fun writing them. Trust me, this'll be cool.  
> I'm thinking next chapter is going to be just pack dynamics, and maybe a flashback or two to when Derek /wasn't/ being a douchebag and deciding that forcing Stiles away was the better option. I'm still not happy with that, and /I wrote the damn story/. I'll never get over it.  
> Seriously, though, I'll try my hardest to get the next chapter out by next week. I'm not sure what homework I'll have over the weekend, but I know I'll have US History to do. I'll be able to write during class some days (the whole beginning part was written today during my Debate class), but there might not be an update for another week. I'm really sorry, but it's... school takes precedence right now.  
> In any case, thank you all who kept coming back and encouraging me. And those who told me it was alright that I was not updating for awhile, thank you. Just... thank all of you, you lovely bastards.  
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments, as long as it isn't mindless hate. I've gotten better at receiving constructive criticism as well, so that's welcome. I'll try to reply when I can.  
> Good morning, good night, and have a nice day, all. See you next chapter.


	11. Every Moment I'm With You (It's Like I'm Holding On To Heaven)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, Derek and Stiles loved each other and Pack was family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys. Just... wow. The overwhelming support I received to continue this was just... wow. That was all I could say for about three hours. Really, it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside knowing so many people want this story to continue. My little black heart shrivels at the thought that all ya'll were kept waiting all this time for a new chapter.  
> With that said, that's actually the reason this chapter is even being released. I had written about half of this in January. Truth be told, it was writer's block that stopped me from finishing it. It is one of the worst cases I've ever had, but after writing multiple chapters in about three different stories, I finally found my muse, if you forgive the term.  
> In all honesty, though, this seems a lot like a filler chapter. I mean, it does explain kind of the whole Pack dynamic before Derek royally fucked up, and I added fluff because this story needs it, and I'm appeasing some of you Sterek fans that really want this story to end the way it should, but it does feel like filler. And, really, it is. I felt like I had to get you guys some type of chapter soon because of my long and abrupt hiatuses. I'm making it up to ya'll, okay? This is me grovelling at your feet and begging forgiveness.  
> And to those of you who worried about me choosing schoolwork or fanfiction, I can sometimes do both. I don't have much to do this weekend, though I'll have to get it all knocked out either tonight or tomorrow. Probably tonight, really. Splicing together a video isn't that hard, and the only other thing I have to do is read for my U.S. History class. It's actually a reprieve for me. Updates, however, will still be very scattered. Time is precious to me nowadays.  
> I think that's enough notes, don't you? They're'll be more at the end, like always, but that's it for now. Onto the story!

**FLASHBACK: FIVE YEARS AGO**

Consciousness sluggishly writhed through Stiles' mind, draining like sludge behind her eyelids. Stiles listlessly awoke from her slumber, awareness flooding first her limbs and haltingly oozed through her mind.

It had been so long since she’d been able to wake up the way _she_ wanted to, what with Derek Hale’s crazy and homicidal uncle rampaging through town a few months prior and Allison Argent’s cracked and creepy grandpa chasing after the entire pack with murderous intent. What was it with crazy family members in their messed up little family anyway? Was it like a requirement to have some maniacally insane part of your family chase after your new family with not-so-innocent intentions?

Whatever it was, Stiles was not awake enough to think it through. In fact, more sleep felt like a great idea. If only whoever was shaking her and buzzing in her ear would stop because it was _seriously_ grating on her sleep-deprived nerves.

Slowly, the buzzing in her ear turned into words, phrases, names. Her _name_ , to be precise.  And whoever was speaking was trying their very hardest to not be too loud or too harsh.

“Stiles? Come on, Stiles. Time to wake up.” The words repeated a moment later, in the same soft, deep voice. She had trouble placing the voice to a face, but it didn’t matter right now. All she wanted to do was sleep and maybe dream about a certain brooding werewolf, thank you very much fluffy-disembodied voice.

Whoever was trying to wake her up paused for a second, as if surprised. Then, he huffed out a laugh. “Now I know you aren’t awake, Stiles. You would never say that if you were.”

“’m ‘wake,” She mumbled into her pillow, trying to sound offended. She just ended up sounding drowsy. “Go ‘way. Sleep time.”

The voice paused in shaking her, only to intensify his efforts to wake her. Stiles let him for a few minutes. It wasn’t waking her up anymore, but it also wasn’t weak enough for her to ignore. After another minute or so, Stiles gave a puny growl and wildly threw her hand out in the direction of the voice. The shaking stopped and the voice took his hands off her shoulders.

“Alright, then, Stiles,” The voice said, and he sounded way too smug and grossly fond for how early in the morning it must be, “Guess you won’t be getting any food, then.”

Stiles’ eyes snapped open at the promise of food, and she shot up rapidly. White-hot pain shot across her stomach, swept down her spine. Mouth gaped in a silent scream, no other thought in her mind except to _get the pain to **stop**_. Fire-fuled agony licked down her spine. Across muscles. Down fingertips. Back arched, muscles spasmed. Pain **pain** _stop stop **stop.**_

And then the voice’s hands were back, pressing her stomach to the mattress, a soft touch on her back. Agony drained away slowly, languorously, pounding torturous waves slowing, current weakening, tide retreating from the shore. Hands unclenched, rigid limbs relaxing as pain drained away. She heard the voice curse under his breath before a weight settled next to her, running a hand along her head.

“ _Dammit_ , Stiles… sorry. I didn’t realize you would react like that. Come on, just open your eyes,” the voice pleaded in an anxious tone. Stiles couldn’t really think of why. She was too focused on the pain that had engulfed her when she tried to get up. Her breath shook as she continued to gasp, hands clenching and unclenching the sheets below her. What was wrong with her back? Or her stomach? What had she done? The last thing she remembered was the lacrosse game and scoring the winning goal. She hadn’t been hurt before that, so—

“Stiles?” The voice was back, strained and desperate. “Come on, open your eyes and look at me, Spark.”

Spark. Only one person called her that. She’d only _let_ one person call her that. Derek.

“Der?” She mumbled in to her pillow. The hand on her head stuttered, fingers tense. He quickly relaxed again, threading his fingers through her short, bedraggled hair. Now that she was at least more coherent, she could smell pine and clean linen and sanded wood, Derek’s scent.

“Yeah, Stiles,” He said, “Can you open your eyes for me? Please?”

It was the please that did her in. Derek almost never said please, not when Stiles was involved. If he was asking now, then she knew it had to be serious.

Pain be damned. Derek Hale was saying _please._

Honey eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly against the harsh light. Her eyes adjusted quickly, leaving her staring up at all six-foot-something of brooding young-adult werewolf. Derek gave her what was probably supposed to be a smile, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on her forehead. Stiles' eyes widened, staring up at the man and tilting her head as much as she could. He never, repeat _never_ , in the past two weeks that they'd been dating or the half a year they'd known each other, kissed her forehead. She called him sourwolf for a goddamn _reason_. Derek Hale was not one for domesticity.

He shook his head, a twisted smile  on his face, and her a weak chuckle. “You’ve been asleep almost fifteen hours, Stiles,” he said as an explanation, “Two more and we were going to take you to a hospital.”

Fifteen hours? Stiles twitched, wanting more than anything to sit up and demand answers from either Derek or Peter or _someone_ , **_anyone_**. Derek pressed a hand to her shoulder, restraining, comforting.

“You don’t want to do that,” he warned, sliding his hand down her shoulder to rest her back, “Gerard did… a bit of damage.”

Gerard. Suddenly, memories of endless screaming invaded her mind. Erica and Boyd strung up like scarecrows, blood dripping and pooling at their feet. A balding man taking a whip to Erica’s back, another hunter stick a cattle prod into Boyd’s side. There was blood on the floor and saws hanging from the walls and bodies in the corner. The crack of the whip and the splatter of blood on concrete and the hiss of electricity and the howls and the groans and the screams echoed against steel walls painted red and she was screaming and the balding man turned his rheumy, squinted eyes to her and he ordered the others to stop and they turned to her.

Because she was pathetic to them. She was breakable. Human. _Weak_.  She would scream for them because her flesh was effortlessly torn, fingernails easily ripped from their place. She didn’t fight back. She would give them what they wanted.

But she didn’t. She screamed, she cried, she begged, but she never told them what they wanted to know. She never gave them the satisfaction of breaking her completely. She kept them entertained so that Boyd and Erica got a rest, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

“--iles! Come on, Batman, come back to us.” Erica’s apprehensive voice broke through the onslaught of memories invading her mind, and suddenly she was kneeling on the floor with her arms wrapped around her chest and head curled, surrounded by the Pack. Scott and Isaac were staring down at her, backed away a few feet so that Stiles had enough room to breathe. Peter had hopped onto the dresser across from the bed, his muscles tense with inaction. On her right, Derek was sitting on the bed, back stiff and fists clenched, but his eyes were calm, brow creased with worry. Looking over to the left, Stiles could just see Boyd, hovering near the window. He gave her a smile that looked more like a grimace, rubbing the new scar on his cheek.

A hand was pressed to her cheek, pushing her to look forward. Erica’s haggard face stared back, a half-smile gracing pale lips. Her matted blonde hair, usually curled and brushed to perfection, was up in a messy ponytail that trailed down her back, spirals of frizzy curls tracing the exhaustion lines that adorned her ashen face. Her hand trembled against Stiles's cheek, a hairline tremor that hadn't been there before Gerard. She looked about as bad as Stiles felt.

“You back with us, Batman?” Erica asked softly, dropping the hand on Stiles’ cheek and pressing it against her back. Black veins spiraled up her arm, and the pain in her back drained away.

Stiles nodded, letting Boyd and Erica help her up. Scott and Isaac, still staring at her like indecisive wounded puppies, left the room, followed shortly by Peter. Derek nodded for Boyd to go on ahead, letting Stiles and Erica walk ahead of him. The blonde lead her to the living room, almost pushing her onto the couch and curling up next to her. The others plopped down in various places--Isaac toppling into the armchair, Scott and Boyd somehow stuffing themselves onto the smaller couch, Peter taking up his normal position against the wall, and Derek, of course, on Stiles's other side--but Stiles could tell they were all in protective positions. A small grin pulled at her lips.

Her smile quickly fell when she remembered why they were being so possessive. A single flash of Allison's homicidal grandpa, beady eyes creased with laughter as he ran a blood slick knife along her stomach with quivering, sweaty hands, impaled her mind’s eye. Stiles shook her head to rid herself of the image, flinching when the skin on her back and stomach stretched uncomfortably.

The room grew tense as silence stretched on, no one willing to speak first and ask the questions that needed to be asked. The werewolves were all hyper-aware of Stiles’ fear, the dark pain that rested in the back of her mind. They knew that mentioning Gerard in any way might send her into a panic attack. All Stiles knew was that she did not want to be having a therapy session regarding her torture with a vacuous stomach and a crowded mind.

“So,” Stiles started, fiddling with the oversized shirt someone had put on her the night before, “Food?”

That broke the tension. Isaac, Scott, and Erica laughed, the boys rising to grab something from the kitchen while Erica left to grab a blanket. Only Peter and Derek still seemed apprehensive, Derek going as far as to drape a long arm around her skeletal shoulder. She gave the two a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes, reaching over to grasp Derek’s other hand.

It stayed silent until Stiles was wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets, sandwich in hand. They allowed her a few minutes to eat in silence, though she more picked at the food than ate it. The prospect of what was to come curled in her stomach, clenching around her like a vice. Her shoulders tensed every time someone coughed or moved slightly, as if preparing herself for a blow.

Peter sighed, pushing himself off the wall. “I hate to be the bad guy—”

“No you don’t,” Stiles interrupted, though it sounded more like a guttural grunt because of the bit of sandwich she had stuffed in her mouth not a moment before.

He smirked back at her, crossing his arms loosely, “No, I don’t,” he agreed, “But you can’t keep stalling, Stiles. We need to know what Gerard wanted from you.”

Stiles passed her plate to Erica’s lap and stood up. No, stalling wasn’t an option anymore. They had a right to know exactly why Gerard had switched to torturing the Hale Pack’s human.

She waved off Isaac and Scott, both of whom had started growling when Peter bluntly asked what they needed to know. In actuality, she was grateful he had. Ripping off the bandage was, in her opinion, more pragmatic and better in the long run than letting the wound underneath fester and poison the bloodstream.

“Gerard,” she began, twisting her fist into the oversized red shirt that smelled like Derek, “he… wanted to know what the pack was up to, I guess. He thought,” Stiles coughed, trying to swallow past the phantom taste of blood that coated the back of her throat, “he thought that since I was the human I could be broken. I was… I was just a-a means to an answer.”

She gasped quietly, or tried to. In a room full of werewolves with hypersensitive hearing, any quiet noise might as well be a shout. Erica pushed the forgotten plate off of her lap and stuttered towards Stiles, but the panicking teen held up a hand to stop her. She had to say what needed to be said. Erica and Boyd didn’t know. They had been unconscious. But _Stiles_ knew.

“Gerard. is. the one. who. controls. the Kanima. now,” Stiles choked out, “Think. he’s gonna. try something. soon.”

Stiles felt her legs go limp. She stumbled backwards, collapsing onto the floor. The Pack startled into action, everyone wanting to do something to help, but Stiles wasn’t done.

“Something. bad. is gonna happen,” was heard through clenched teeth, tears spilling down her bruised cheeks, “I’m. sorry. I couldn’t. stop. him. I tried. so hard.”

Everything stilled, no one daring to move, daring to speak. Stiles sobbed once, just once, before struggling to gain control over herself, wrapping her arms around her shaking shoulders in an effort to breathe. This wasn’t about her anymore. This was about the Pack and about the town and about Gerard Argent, who thought that killing innocent werewolves was just business. Protect and serve was the motto her father followed, and it was something she took to heart.

Heaving in one breath, two, three, Stiles murmured, “Tried so hard. Tried to stop him. Delay him. Don’t know what he’s planning, but he’s… he’s gonna kill all the wolves in Beacon Hills.”

She could see him, too. See him pacing his bloodstained basement, cruel smile painted on his haggard face. Just a bitter old man intent on destroying her Pack. _Her_ Pack. He can try all he wants, but her Pack will **_survive_**.

Bloodshot eyes glanced up at stunned faces. Her friends, her family, her Pack, all wide-eyed and still-faced, like a painting, like a picture. Stiles licked her lips, tongue catching the blood that leaked from a split that she must have bitten into while she broke down on the floor. Looking into each face, seeing the creased brows, the pursed lips, the fear and anger etched into the lines around their heavy eyes, she looked and she saw determination. She saw rage-fueled concentration. Hell hath no fury like a Pack who has been wronged, and Heaven hath no mercy for those who hurt a Hale Pack member. Especially a human one.

“What do you want us to do?” Derek growled, fists clenched but eyes thankfully normal.

That was the question she wanted to hear. Stiles stayed curled on the ground, still afraid and still injured and still human, but not weak. Still beaten, but not broken.

Looking up at her Alpha, Stiles smiled.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Later, much later, when everything had calmed down, Jackson was alive and up-to-speed, Lydia was consoled and enlightened about the world of werewolves and lizard-werewolves and crazy homicidal family members, Allison aware of the manipulation of her grandfather, everyone was patched up and sent home, Stiles found herself curled up on her bed and on the brink of a major panic attack.

Her Pack had run headfirst into stopping Gerard and his evil master plan. Then again, there hadn’t been much of a choice on whether they could or not. He had formerly possessed control of the Kanima-that-was-Jackson-Whittemore, was a maniacal hunter with ties _everywhere_ , and had attacked Pack. There was no choice, only a thought of what exactly they would do.

And now, after hours of planning and strategizing and actually fighting, Stiles could panic alone and in peace. She could cry, wail, scream, or stay silent. She could do what she wanted because it was all over and done with and there was no one else to save. She was alone.

Well, not alone.

Derek Hale, resident creeperwolf—though that title was ceded to his uncle—and Stiles Stilinski Stalker, lay next to her, curled around her shaking, sobbing form. Their limbs were tangled, hands intertwined, and her head resting softly on his chest as tears soaked his thin t-shirt. His chin was settled on top of the wild, curly mop of hair she sported, occasionally making soothing shushing noises or whispering “It’s over, we’re okay,” into her ear over and over. It was the most comfort she had received since her mother died.

It was protective, reassuring. For the first time, since the Kanima had started ravaging Beacon Hills, Stiles felt _safe_. Here, in the powerful arms of the Alpha of her Pack, twisted up with him, she felt like nothing bad could ever happen. Not again. Not now. Here, nothing could hurt her or her Pack or her family or anyone.

Her tears slowly stopped falling, tearstains drying, fear and pain and sadness draining away. Still Derek held her, keeping her wrapped in his arms, whispering comfort into her ears when her heart beat started escalating, murmuring sweet nothings at other random intervals and pressing gentle kisses to her head. It was so surprisingly domestic that Stiles almost laughed, reminded of the morning after Gerard had released her when he had done much the same. Who knew rough-and-tough, stoic, sourwolf Derek Hale could be so loving?  

“Stiles?” The girl in question, drifting on the edge of consciousness, hummed in reply and nuzzled his chest. Whatever it is, Der, it can wait, she tried to convey with just her actions.

“Stiles? You asleep?” Derek asked, one hand escaping her grasp to brush at the curling hair on her forehead. She only huffed in reply, her mouth refusing to form the words “shut up”. The man chuckled, the arm around her waist squeezing her slightly in a half-hug. Stiles knew that he had assumed she was asleep.

“I just wanted you to know, Stiles,” he paused, as if searching for the right word. Stiles struggled to stay awake, her interest piqued. What was it that he, Mr. Broody-Mc-Werewolf, had to say this late—or this early, whichever it was?

Derek sighed, but the sound was just as fond as it was exhausted. “I wanted you to know, Geneviève, that I love you,” He murmured into her hair, “And that I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

Fondness tinted with annoyance flooded through Stiles. Of course he would blame himself for her kidnapping. Of course it would wage war on his conscience. Of course he couldn’t say it when she was awake. Stupid sourwolf.

“L’ve you too, Der,” she mumbled into his shirt, snuggling closer, “F’rever ‘nd alw’s.”

_‘I forgive you,’_ she thought, unable to say it aloud.

After a short stunned silence, he chuckled. “Tricky Spark,” he teased, but his tone turned serious, “Forever and always, Geneviève.”

_‘I’ll protect you, Stiles. Now and forever.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sappy ending is sappy :). And I think my Derek might be a bit OOC, but no one ever knows because he never had a girlfriend like Stiles. And I really do think this is a bit erratic, especially since Stiles somehow turned out to be bipolar in this. Don't know how that happened. It is kind of bad, isn't it? I'll hopefully have this fixed up by tomorrow, but I've been slaving over this for most of the day. Been at this for more than twelve hours, trying to get something out for you guys.  
> This will most likely be one of the last happy chapters for awhile. We're getting to the real meat of this story, guys. Bad guys, blood, and a plan. That's my plan for the next few chapters. Also, a certain someone might be coming back in a few chapters or so. I bet you guys can guess who it is. Then again, I have no idea who actually reads my rambling notes, so I don't actually know if ya'll will see this before that chapter actually comes out. Don't have it written yet, so I don't know.  
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed, and thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being so supportive. I swear, the amount of comments I received telling me to continue, and the influx of kudos as well, made my little black heart grow five times as big. I'm the Grinch of AO3.  
> And if anyone can guess what song the title was named after, you win free virtual cookies. Just sayin'. Every one of my titles is named after some song.  
> That's enough notes for today. Good night, good morning, and I'll see you guys next chapter.


	12. DISCONTINUED INDEFINATELY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCONTINUED

I feel terrible writing this since so many people loved this fic, but she's her mother's daughter is indefinitely discontinued at this point. I lost interest in writing it almost a year and a half ago and stopped watching Teen Wolf before the forth season began. I'm leaving it up just in case anyone wishes to take what I have and keep going. I have no problems with that.   
Thanks for everything, loyal readers, and I'm sorry.

 

\--Pale


End file.
